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MEMOIR 



OF 



THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 



or 



MRS HE MANS. 



BY 



HER SISTER. 



Y\C 



Not for the brightness of a mortal wreath, 

Not for a place 'mid kingly minstrels dead, 
But that, perchance, a faint gale of thy breath, 

A still small whisper in my song hath led 
One struggling spirit upwards to thy throne, 
Or but one hope, one prayer : — for this alone 

I bless thee, O my God ! 
From "A Poet's Dying Hymn," by Mrs Hemans. 



WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 

EDINBURGH AND LONDON. 

M.DCCC.XLL 




ft 

* 
.... 



TO 

COLONEL SIR HENRY BROWNE, K.C.H. 

THESE PAGES, 

WRITTEN UNDER HIS ROOF, 

RICH HAS ALWAYS BEEN AREFUGE FOR THE SORROWFUL. 

ARE DEDICATED, 

BY HIS SURVIVING SISTER, 

IN REMEMBRANCE OF HER, 

WHO, DURING MANY YEARS OF TRIAL, 

FOUND HER BEST EARTHLY SOLACE 

IN HIS CARE AND AFFECTION. 



CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. 



PAGE 

MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS, 1 

WALLACE'S INVOCATION TO BRUCE, , 317 

ENGLAND AND SPAIN ; or, VALOUR AND PATRIOTISM, 330 



MEMOIR 



THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 



MRS HEMANS. 



BY HER SISTER. 



Not for the brightness of a mortal wreath, 

Not for a place 'mid kingly minstrels dead, 
But that, perchance, a faint gale of thy breath, 

A still small whisper in my song hath led 
One struggling spirit upwards to thy throne, 
Or but one hope, one prayer : — for this alone 

I bless thee, O my God ! 
From "A Poet's Dying Hymn," by Mrs Hemans. 



MEMOIE 



OF 



MRS HEMANS. 



Perhaps there never was an individual who would 
have shrunk more sensitively from the idea of being 
made the subject of a biographical memoir, than 
she of whom, by a strange fatality, so many im- 
perfect notices have been given to the world. The 
external events of her life were few and unimportant; 
and that inward grief which pervaded and darkened 
her whole existence, was one with which " a stranger 
intermeddleth not." The gradual developement of 
her mind may be traced in the writings by which 
she alone wished to be generally known. In every 
thing approaching to intrusion on the privacies of 
domestic life, her favourite motto was, " Implora 
pace/ 9 and those to whom her wishes were most 
sacred — in whose ears still echo the plaintive tones 
of her deathbed injunction, " Oh ! never let them 
publish any of my letters !" — would fain, as far as 
I. A 



2 MEMOIR OE MRS HEMANS. 

regards all personal details, have " kept silence, even 
from good words ;" and in this spirit of reverential 
forbearance, would have believed they were best ful- 
filling her own affecting exhortation, — 

" Leave ye the Sleeper with her God to rest."* 

But it is now too late to deprecate or to deplore. 
A part of Mrs Hemans's correspondence has already 
been laid before the public ; and the result has been 
one which was, doubtless, little contemplated by the 
kindly-intentioned editor, — that of creating a very 
inadequate estimate of her character, by "present- 
ing, in undue prominence" (to use the words of a 
judicious critic),f " a certain portion of the writer's 
mind, by no means the portion with which her ad- 
mirers will best sympathize, and omitting that other 
and more exalted division of her nature, in which 
she was solely or pre-eminently herself." 

The spell having thus been broken, and the veil of 
the sanctuary lifted, it seems now to have become the 
duty of those with whose feelings the strict fulfilment 
of her own wishes would have been so far more accor- 
dant, to raise that veil a little further, though with a 
reluctant and trembling hand. It has not been without 
a painful struggle, that any invasion has been made 
on the sanctity of private correspondence, generously 
as their treasure-stores have been laid open by the 
friends who had hitherto guarded them so religiously. 

* See " The Farewell to the Dead." 

f In the leading article of the "Dublin University Maga- 
zine' for August 1S37- 



MEMOIH OF MRS HEMANS. 3 

I 

Such letters only have been selected as served to 
illustrate some individuality of character or temper- 
ament, or to exhibit the vivid powers of description 
possessed by the writer ; and it is most earnestly 
hoped that these unpretending memorials, feeble and 
deficient as they are felt to be, may, at least, be found 
free from anything which can give pain to others, or 
lead to any wrong impressions of the guileless and 
confiding spirit, whose bright, and kindly, and endear- 
ing graces they so faintly attempt to pourtray. It is 
acknowledged, indeed, that as to the points of highest 
moral interest and importance, little more than nega- 
tive merit is thus attained, and very imperfect redress 
afforded to a memory on which such partial light 
had been thrown by previous delineations. But the 
deficiency is knowingly incurred, as preferable to the 
use of the only means by which the picture could 
have been made more complete. For it was in a 
great measure impossible to render available those 
positive testimonies to the generous feelings of her 
heart, and the high principles of her nature, which 
her correspondence with intimate friends amply sup- 
plies, without a breach of those confidences of home 
and friendship, which no precedent can justify, and 
which can be reconciled to the feelings of an English 
family by no increase of public admiration to an in- 
dividual member, by no craving, however urgent or 
imperious, of the public taste. With a request, then, 
that the deficiency thus accounted for may be indul- 
gently borne in mind, a close is now gladly put to 



4 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

these prefatory remarks, and the reader's kind for- 
bearance bespoken for the other imperfections of a 
biographical sketch, which, it is needless to indicate, 
has not been drawn by the hand of an artist. 

Felicia Dorothea Browne was born in Liver- 
pool, on the 25 th September, 1793. Her father, a native 
of Ireland, was a merchant of considerable eminence. 
Her mother,, whose family name was Wagner, and 
who was of mingled Italian and German descent, 
was the daughter of the Imperial and Tuscan Con- 
sul at Liverpool. The subject of this memoir (the 
fifth of seven children, one of whom died an infant), 
was distinguished, almost from her cradle, by extreme 
beauty and precocious talents. Before she had at- 
tained the age of seven, her father, having suffered 
commercial reverses, in common with many others 
engaged in similar speculations at that revolutionary 
era, broke up his establishment in Liverpool, and 
removed with his family into Wales, where, for the 
next nine years, they resided at Gwrych,* near Aber- 
gele, in Denbighshire, a large old mansion, close to 
the sea, and shut in by a picturesque range of moun- 
tains. In the calm seclusion of this romantic region, 
with ample range through the treasures of an exten- 
sive library, the young poetess passed a happy child- 
hood, to which she would often fondly revert amidst 
the vicissitudes of h§r after life. Here she imbibed 

* The greater part of this old house has since been taken 
down, and Gwrych Castle, the baronial-looking seat of Lloyd 
Bamford Hesketb, Esq., erected on the opposite height. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 5 

that intense love of Nature which ever afterwards 
" haunted her like a passion," and that warm attach- 
ment for the " green land of Wales ;" its affectionate, 
true-hearted people — their traditions, their music, 
and all their interesting characteristics, which she 
cherished to the last hours of her existence. After 
the loss of her eldest sister, who died young, her 
education became the first care of a mother, whose 
capability for the task could only be equalled by her 
devotedness : whose acquirements were of the highest 
order, and whose whole character, presenting a rare 
union of strong sense with primitive single-minded- 
ness, was an exemplification of St Paul's description 
of that charity which " suffer eth long and is kind," 
" seeketh not her own," " thinketh no evil." Her 
piety was sober, steadfast, and cheerful ; never dis- 
playing itself in high- wrought excitements or osten- 
tatious professions, but silently influencing every 
action of her life, and shedding a perpetual sunshine 
over all which came within its sphere. How truly 
the love of this exemplary mother was returned and 
appreciated, may be traced in many affecting instances 
through the following pages, from the artless birth- 
day effusion of the child of eight years old, to the 
deathbed hymn of agonized affection, * in the matured 
years of the daughter, herself a matron and a mother. 
And when that love had been sealed and sanctified 
by death, still more fervent are the yearnings breathed 



* n 



Hymn by a bed of sickness," written in January 1827- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAJVS. 

forth in the passionate adjuration to " the charmed 
picture" of the 

" Sweet face that o'er her childhood shone ;*' 

and last and deepest, and best of all, in the sonnet 
" To a Family Bible," in which the mourner, chas- 
tened yet consoled, looks back upon the days when 
her mother's lips were wont to breathe forth the 
sacred lore of those hallowed pages, and meekly and 
thank (uliy acknowledges it to have been — 

" A seed not lost — for which, in darker years, 
O Book of Heaven ! I pour, with grateful tears, 
Heart blessings on the holy dead and thee." 

It may well be imagined how the heart of such a 
mother would be garnered up in a child so gifted as 
the bright and blooming Felicia, whose extraordinary 
quickness in acquiring information of every kind, was 
not less remarkable than the grasp of memory with 
which she retained it. She could repeat pages of 
poetry from her favourite authors, after having read 
them but once over ; and a scarcely less wonderful 
faculty was the rapidity of her reading, which even in 
childhood, and still more in after life, was such, that 
a bystander would imagine she was only carelessly 
turning over the leaves of a book, when, in truth, 
she was taking in the whole sense as completely as 
others would do whilst poring over it with the closest 
attention. One of her earliest tastes was a passion 
for Shakspeare, which she read, as her choicest re- 
creation, at six years old ; and in later days she 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 7 

would often refer to the hours of romance she had 
passed in a secret haunt of her own — a seat amongst 
the branches of an old apple-tree — where, revelling 
in the treasures of the cherished volume, she would 
become completely absorbed in the imaginative world 
it revealed to her.* The following lines, written at 
eleven years old, may be adduced as a proof of her 
juvenile enthusiasm. 

SHAXSPEARE. 

I love to rove o'er history's page, 
Recall the hero and the sage ; 
Revive the actions of the dead, 
And memory of ages fled : 
Yet it yields me greater pleasure, 
To read the poet's pleasing measure 
Led by Shakspeare, bard inspired, 
The bosom's energies are fired ; 
We learn to shed the generous tear, 
O'er poor Ophelia's sacred bier ; 
To love the merry moonlit scene, 
With fairy elves in valleys green ; 

* An allusion to this favourite haunt will be found in the 
sonnet called *' Orchard Blossoms," written in 1834. 

" Doth some old nook, 

Haunted by visions of thy first-loved book, 

Rise on thy soul, with faint-streaked blossoms white 

Showered o'er the turf, and the lone primrose-knot, 

And robin's nest, still faithful to the spot, 

And the bee's dreamy chime ? O gentle friend ! 

The world's cold breath, not Times, this life bereaves 

Of vernal gifts — Time hallows what he leaves, 

And will for us endear spring-memories to the end." 



8 MEMOIR OF MRS HEM AN S. 

Or, borne on fancy's heavenly wings, 
To listen while sweet Ariel sings. 
How sweet the " native woodnotes wild" 
Of him, the Muse's favourite child ! 
Of him whose magic lays impart 
Each various feeling to the heart ! 

At about the age of eleven, she passed a winter in 
London with her father and mother ; and a similar 
sojourn was repeated in the following year, after 
which she never visited the metropolis. The contrast 
between the confinement of a town life, and the happy 
freedom of her own mountain home, was even then 
so distasteful to her, that the indulgences of plays 
and sights soon ceased to be cared for, and she longed 
to rejoin her younger brother | and sister in their 
favourite rural haunts and amusements — the nuttery 
wood, the beloved apple-tree, the old arbour, with its 
swing, the post-office tree, in whose trunk a daily 
interchange of family letters was established, the 
pool where fairy ships were launched (generally 
painted and decorated by herself), and, dearer still, 
the fresh, free ramble on the seashore, or the moun- 

f Claude Scott Browne, the brother here alluded to, who 
was one year younger than Mrs Hemans, died at Kingston, in 
Upper Canada (where he was employed as a Deputy-Assist- 
ant Commissary General), in 1821. 

" They grew in beauty, side by side, 
They fill'd one home with glee; 
Their graves are severed far and wide, 
By mount, and stream, and sea." 

Tlce Gr uves of a Household. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. \) 

tain expedition to the Signal Station, or the Roman 
Encampment. In one of her letters, the pleasure 
with which she looked forward to her return home, 
was thus expressed in rhyme. 

WRITTEN FROM LONDON TO MY BROTHER AND SISTER IN THE 
COUNTRY. 

Happy soon we'll meet again, 
Free from sorrow, care, and pain ; 
Soon again we'll rise with dawn, 
To roam the verdant dewy lawn ; 
Soon the budding leaves we U hail, 
Or wander through the well-known vale ; 
Or weave the smiling wreath of flowers ; 
And sport away the light-winged hours. 
Soon we'll run the agile race ; 
Soon, dear playmates, we'll embrace ; — 
Through the wheat field or the grove, 
We'll, hand in hand, delighted rove ; 
Or, beneath some spreading oak, 
Ponder the instructive book ; 
Or view the ships that swiftly glide, 
Floating on the peaceful tide ; 
Or raise again the carolled lay ; 
Or join again in mirthful play ; 
Or listen to the humming bees, 
As their murmurs swell the breeze ; 
Or seek the primrose where it springs ; 
Or chase the fly with painted wings ; 
Or talk beneath the arbour's shade ; 
Or mark the tender shooting blade ; 
Or stray beside the babbling stream, 
When Luna sheds her placid beam ; 
Or gaze upon the glassy sea — 
Happy, happy shall we be 1 



10 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

Some things, however, during these visits to Lon- 
don, made an impression never to be effaced, and she 
retained the most vivid recollection of several of the 
great vrorks of art which she was then taken to see. 
On entering a gallery of sculpture, she involuntarily 
exclaimed — " Oh ! hush ! — don't speak ;" and her 
mother used to take pleasure in describing the inte- 
rest she had excited in a party who happened to be 
visiting the Marquess of Stafford's collection at the 
same time, by her unsophisticated expressions of de- 
light, and her familiarity with the mythological and 
classical subjects of many of the pictures. 

In 1808, a collection of her poems, which had long 
been regarded amongst her friends with a degree of 
admiration, perhaps more partial than judicious, was 
submitted to the world, in the form (certainly an ill- 
advised one) of a quarto volume. Its appearance 
drew down the animadversions of some self-consti- 
tuted arbiter of public taste, and the young poetess 
was thus early initiated into the pains and perils at- 
tendant upon the career of an author ; though it may 
here be observed, that, as far as criticism was con- 
cerned, this was at once the first and last time she 
was destined to meet with anything like harshness 
or mortification. Though this unexpected severity 
was felt bitterly for a few days, her buoyant spirit 
soon rose above it, and her effusions continued to be 
poured forth as spontaneously as the song of the 
skylark. New sources of inspiration were now 
opening to her view. Birthday addresses, songs by 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 1 1 

the seashore, and invocations to fairies, were hence- 
forth to be diversified with warlike themes ; and 
trumpets and banners now floated through the dreams 
in which birds and flowers had once reigned para- 
mount. Her two elder brothers had entered the 
army at an early age, and were both serving in the 
23d Royal Welsh Fusiliers. One of them was now 
engaged in the Spanish campaign under Sir John 
Moore ; and a vivid imagination and enthusiastic 
affections being alike enlisted in the cause, her young 
mind was filled with glorious visions of British valour 
and Spanish patriotism. In her ardent view, the 
days of chivalry seemed to be restored, and the very 
names which were of daily occurrence in the de- 
spatches, were involuntarily associated with the deeds 
of Roland and his Paladins, or of her own especial 
hero, " The Cid Ruy Diaz," the campeador. Under 
the inspiration of these feelings, she composed a 
poem, entitled " England and Spain," which was 
published and afterwards translated into Spanish. 
This cannot but be considered as a very remarkable 
production for a girl of fourteen ; lofty sentiments, 
correctness of language, and historical knowledge, 
being all strikingly displayed in it. 

The very time when her mind was wrought up to 
this pitch of romantic enthusiasm, was that which 
first brought to her acquaintance the person who 
was destined to exercise so important an influence 
over her future life. Captain Hemans, then in the 
4th, or King's Own Regiment, whilst on a visit in 



12 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

the neighbourhood, was introduced to the family at 
Gwrych. The young poetess was then only fifteen ; 
in the full glow of that radiant beauty which was 
destined to fade so early. The mantling bloom of 
her cheeks was shaded by a profusion of natural 
ringlets, of a rich golden brown ; and the ever-vary- 
ing expression of her brilliant eyes gave a change- 
ful play to her countenance, which would have made 
it impossible for any painter to do justice to it. The 
recollection of what she was at that time, irresistibly 
suggests a quotation from Wordsworth's graceful 
poetic picture : — 

" She was a phantom of delight, 

"When first she gleamed upon my sight ; 
A lovely apparition, sent 
To be a moment's ornament. 
***** 
A dancing shape, an image gay, 
To haunt, to startle, and waylay." 

That so fair a being should excite the warmest 
admiration, was not surprising. Perhaps it was not 
more so, that the impassioned expression of that ad- 
miration should awaken reciprocal feelings in the* 
bosom of a young, artless, and enthusiastic girl, 
readily investing him who professed such devotion, 
(and who, indeed, was by no means destitute of 
advantages either of person or education), with all 
the attributes of the heroes of her dreams. Their 
intercourse at this time was not of long continuance; 
for Captain Hemans was called upon to embark with 



MEMOIR OP MRS HEMANS. 13 

Iris regiment for Spain ; and this circumstance was 
in itself sufficient to complete the illusion which had 
now gained possession of her heart. It was hoped 
by the friends of both parties, that the impressions 
thus formed might prove but a passing fancy, which 
time and distance would efface ; but the event proved 
otherwise, though nearly three years elapsed before 
they met again. 

In 1809? the family removed from Gwrych to 
Bronwylfa, near St Asaph,* in Flintshire. Here, 
though in somewhat less of seclusion than during the 
previous years of her life, her mind continued to 
develope itself, and her tastes and pursuits to embrace 
a progressively wider range. The study of the Spa- 
nish and Portuguese languages was added to the 
already acquired French and Italian. She also read 
German, though it was not until many years later 
that she entered with full appreciation into the soul 
and spirit of that magnificent language, and wrote 
of it as " having opened to her a new world of 
thought and feeling, so that even the music of the 
JEichenland, j as Korner calls it, seemed to acquire 
a deeper tone, when she had gained a familiarity 
with its noble poetry." 

The powers of her memory were so extraordinary, 
as to be sometimes made the subject of a wager, by 
those who were sceptical as to the possibility of her 

* This place was purchased, some years afterwards, by Mrs 
Hemans's eldest brother, Colonel Sir Henry Browne. 
t Land of Oaks. 



14 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

achieving, what she would, in the most undoubting 
simplicity, undertake to perform. On one of these 
occasions, to satisfy the incredulity of one of her 
brothers, she learned by heart, having never read it 
before, the whole of Heber's poem of " Europe" in 
one hour and twenty minutes, and repeated it with- 
out a single mistake or a moment's hesitation. The 
length of this poem is four hundred and twenty-four 
lines. 

She had a taste for drawing, which, with time and 
opportunity for its cultivation, would, doubtless, have 
led to excellence ; but having so many other pursuits 
requiring her attention, she seldom attempted any- 
thing beyond slight sketches in pencil or Indian ink. 
Her correctness of eye, and the length and clearness 
of her vision, were almost as proverbial amongst her 
friends as her extraordinary powers of memory. She 
played both the harp and piano with much feeling 
and expression, and at this time had a good voice, 
but in a very few years it became weakened by 
the frequent recurrence of affections of the chest, 
and singing was consequently discontinued. Even 
in her most joyous days, the strains she preferred 
were always those of a pensive character. The most 
skilful combinations of abstract musical science 
did not interest or please her : what she loved best 
were national airs, whether martial or melancholy, 
(amongst these the Welsh and Spanish were her 
favourites), and whatever might be called suggestive 
music, as awakening associations either traditional, 



MEMOIR OF MRS BCEMANS. 15 

local, or imaginary. There are ears in which cer- 
tain melodies are completely identified with the re- 
collection of her peculiarly soft and sostenuto touch, 
which gave to the piano an effect almost approach- 
ing to the swell of an organ. Amongst these may 
be mentioned Jomelli's Chaconne, Oginsky's well- 
known Polonaise, some of the slow movements from 
the Ballet of Nina, and a little touching air called 
the Moravian Nun, brought from Germany by her 
eldest brother, who had learned it by ear. 

In after life, when, like " a reed shaken by the 
wind," her frame had been shattered by sorrow and 
suffering, the intensity of her perceptions was such, 
that music became a painful excitement, and there 
were times when her nerves were too much over- 
wrought to bear it. Allusions to this state of feel- 
ing is found in many of her poems ; and in one of 
her letters, referring to a work of Kichter's, she 
thus expresses herself : — " What a deep echo gives 
answer within the mind to the exclamation of the 
' immortal old man' at the sound of music* * Away ! 

* " Once in dreams, I saw a human being of heavenly intellec- 
tual faculties, and his aspirations were heavenly ; but he was 
chained, methought, eternally to the earth. The immortal old 
man had five great wounds in his happiness — five worms that 
gnawed for ever at his heart. He was unhappy in spring-time, 
because that is a season of hope, and rich with phantoms of far 
happier days than any which this Aceldama of earth can rea- 
lize. He was unhappy at the sound of music, which dilates the 
heart of man with its whole capacity for the infinite ; and he 
cried aloud, — * Away ! away ! Thou speakest of things which, 



I 6 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

away ! thou speakest of things which, throughout my 
endless life, I have found not, and shall not find ! ' 
All who have felt music, must, at times, I think, 
have felt this, making its sweetness too piercing to be 
sustained." 

Some of the happiest days the young poetess ever 
passed were during occasional visits to some friends at 
Conway, where the charms of the scenery, combining 
all that is most beautiful in wood, water, and ruin, 
are sufficient to inspire the most prosaic tempera- 
ment with a certain degree of enthusiasm ; and it 
may therefore well be supposed, how fervently a soul, 
constituted like hers, would worship Nature at so 
fitting a shrine. With that happy versatility, which 
was at all times a leading characteristic of her mind, 
she would now enter with child-like playfulness into 

throughout my endless life, I have found not, and shall not 
find ! ' He was unhappy at the remembrance of earthly affec- 
tions and dissevered hearts ; for Love is a plant which may 
bud in this life, but must flourish in another. He was unhappy 
under the glorious spectacle of the heavenly host, and ejacu- 
lated for ever in his heart — ' So, then, I am parted from you 
to all eternity by an impassable abyss ! the great universe of 
suns is above, below, and round about me, but I am chained 
to a little ball of dust and ashes ! ' He was unhappy before 
the great ideas of virtue, of truth, and of God ; because he 
knew how feeble are the approximations to them which a son 
of earth can make. But this was a dream. God be thanked 
that there is no such asking eye directed upwards towards 
heaven, to which Death will not one day bring an answer ! " — 
From the German of Richttr. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 17 

the enjoyments of a mountain scramble, or a pic-nic 
water party, the gayest of the merry band, of whom 
some are now, like herself, laid low, some far away in 
foreign lands, some changed by sorrow, and all by 
time ; and then, in graver mood, dream away hours 
of pensive contemplation amidst the grey ruins of 
that noblest of Welsh castles, standing, as it then 
did, in solitary grandeur, unapproached by bridge or 
causeway, flinging its broad shadow across the tri~ 
butary waves which washed its regal walls. These 
lovely scenes never ceased to retain their hold over 
the imagination of her whose youthful muse had so 
often celebrated their praises. Her peculiar ad- 
miration of Mrs Joanna Baillie's play of Ethwald 
was always pleasingly associated with the recollec- 
tion of her having first read it amidst the ruins of 
Conway Castle. At Conway, too, she first made 
acquaintance with the lively and graphic Chronicles 
of the chivalrous Froissart, whose inspiring pages 
never lost their place in her favour. Her own little 
poem, " The Ruin and its Flowers," which will be 
found amongst the earlier pieces in the present col- 
lection, was written on an excursion to the old for- 
tress of Dyganwy, the remains of which are situated 
on a bold promontory near the entrance of the river 
Conway ; and whose ivied walls, now fast moulder- 
ing into oblivion, once bore their part bravely in the 
defence of Wales ; and are further endeared to the 
lovers of song and tradition, as having echoed the 
complaints of the captive Elphin, and resounded to 

I. B 



18 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

the harp of Taliesin. A scarcely degenerate repre- 
sentative of that gifted bard* had, at the time now 
alluded to, his appropriate dwelling-place at Con- 
way ; but his strains have long been silenced, and 
there now remain few, indeed, on whom the Druidi* 
cal mantle has fallen so worthily. In the days when 
his playing was heard by one so fitted to enjoy its 
originality and beauty, 

" The minstrel was infirm and old ;" 
but his inspiration had not yet forsaken him ; and 
the following lines (written in 1811) will give an 
idea of the magic power he still knew how to exer- 
cise over the feelings of his auditors. 

TO MR EDWARD'S, THE HARPER OF CONWAY. 

Minstrel ! whose gifted hand can bring, 
Life, rapture, soul, from every string ; 
And wake, like bards of former time, 
The spirit of the harp sublime ; — 

* Mr Edwards, the Harper of Conway, as he was generally 
called, had been blind from his birth, and was endowed with 
that extraordinary musical genius, by which persons suffering 
under such a visitation, are not unfrequently indemnified. From 
the respectability of his circumstances, he was not called upon to 
exercise his talents with any view to remuneration. He played 
to delight himself and others ; and the innocent complacency 
with which he enjoyed the ecstasies called forth by his skill, 
and the degree of appreciation with which he regarded himself, 
as in a manner consecrated, by being made the depositary of a 
direct gift from Heaven, were, as far as possible, removed from 
any of the common modifications of vanity or self-conceit. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 19 

Oh ! still prolong the varying strain ! 
Oh ! touch th' enchanted chords again ! 

Thine is the charm, suspending care, 
The heavenly swell, the dying close, 
The cadence melting into air, 
That lulls each passion to repose. 
While transport, lost in silence near, 
Breathes all her language in a tear. 

Exult, O Cambria ! — now no more, 
With sighs thy slaughtered bards deplore : 
What though Plinlimmon's misty brow, 
And Mona's woods be silent now, 
Yet can thy Conway boast a strain, 
Unrivali'd in thy proudest reign. 

For Genius, with divine control, 
Wakes the bold chord neglected long, 
And pours Expression's glowing soul 
O'er the wild Harp, renowned in song. 
And Inspiration, hovering round, 
Swells the full energies of sound. 

Now Grandeur, pealing in the tone, 
Could rouse the warrior's kindling fire, 
And now, 'tis like the breeze's moan, 
That murmurs o'er th' Eolian lyre : 
As if some sylph, with viewless wing, 
Were sighing o'er the magic string. 

Long, long, fair Conway ! boast the skill. 
That soothes, inspires, commands, at will ! 
And oh ! while Rapture hails the lay, 
Far distant be the closing day, 
When Genius, Taste, again shall weep. 
And Cambria's Harp lie hushed in sleep ! 



20 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS*. 

Whilst on the subject of Conway, it may not be 
amiss to introduce two little pieces of a very diffe- 
rent character from the foregoing, which were writ- 
ten at the same place, three or four years afterwards, 
and will serve as a proof of that versatility of talent 
before alluded to. As may easily be supposed, they 
were never intended for publication, but were merely 
a,jeu d 'esprit of the moment, in good-humoured rail- 
lery of the indefatigable zeal and perseverance of 
one of the party in his geological researches : — 

EPITAPH ON MR W , A CELEBRATED MINERALOGIST. 

Stop, passenger ! a wondrous tale to list — 

Here lies a famous "Mineralogist 

Famous indeed ! such traces of his power, 

He's left from Penmaenbach to Penmaenmawr, 

Such caves, and chasms, and fissures in the rocks, 

His works resemble those of earthquake shocks ; 

And future ages very much may wonder 

What mighty giant rent the hills asunder, 

Or whether Lucifer himself had ne'er 

Gone with his crew to play at foot-ball there. 

His fossils, flints, and spars, of every hue, 
With him, good reader, here lie buried too — 
Sweet specimens ! which, toiling to obtain, 
He split huge cliffs, like so much wood, in twain. 
We knew, so great the fuss he made about them, 
Alive or dead, he ne'er would rest without them, 
So, to secure soft slumber to his bones, 
We paved his grave with all his favourite stones. 
His much-loved hammer's resting by his side; 
Each hand contains a shell-fish petrified : 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 21 

His mouth a piece of pudding-stone incloses, 
And at his feet a lump of coal reposes : 
Sure he was born beneath some lucky planet — 
His very coffin-plate is made of granite. 

Weep not, good reader ! he is truly blest 
Amidst chalcedony and quartz to rest : 
Weep not for him ! but envied be his doom, 
Whose tomb, though small, for all he loved had room: 
And, O ye rocks ! — schist, gneiss, whatever ye be, 
Ye varied strata ! — names too hard for me — 
Sing, " Oh, be joyful!" for your direst foe, 
By death's fell hammer, is at length laid low. 

Ne'er on your spoils again shall W riot. 

Clear up your cloudy brows, and rest in quiet — 
He sleeps — no longer planning hostile actions, 
As cold as any of his petrifactions ; 
Enshrined in specimens of every hue, 
Too tranquil e'en to dream, ye rocks, of you. 



:pitaph on the hammer of the aforesaid mineralogist. 

Here in the dust, its strange adventures o'er, 
A hammer rests, that ne'er knew rest before. 
Released from toil, it slumbers by the side 
Of one who oft its temper sorely tried ; 
No day e'er passed, but in some desperate strife 
He risked the faithful hammer's limbs and life ; 
Now laying siege to some old limestone wall, 
Some rock now battering, proof to cannon-ball ; 
Now scaling heights like Alps or Pyrenees, 
Perhaps a flint, perhaps a slate to seize ; 
But, if a piece of copper met his eyes, 
He'd mount a precipice that touch'd the skies, 



22 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

And bring down lumps so precious, and so many, 
I'm sure they almost would have made — a penny ! 
Think, when such deeds as these were daily done, 
What fearful risks this hammer must have run. 
And, to say truth, its praise deserves to shine 
In lays more lofty and more famed than mine : 
Oh ! that in strains which ne'er should be forgot, 
Its deeds were blazon'd forth by Walter Scott ' 
Then should its name with his be closely link'd, 
And live till every mineral were extinct. 
Rise, epic bards ! be yours the ample field — 

Bid W >'s hammer match Achilles 7 shield : 

As for my muse, the chaos of her brain, 

I search for specimens of wit in vain ; 

Then let me cease ignoble rhymes to stammer, 

And seek some theme less arduous than the hammer ; 

Rememb'ring well, " what perils do environ" 

Woman or M man that meddles with cold iron." 

About this time, also, she wrote, for her second 
brother, the following Prologue to the Poor Gen- 
tleman, as intended to be performed by the officers 
of the 34th regiment at Clonmel : — 

Enter Captain George Browne, in the character of 
Corporal Foss. 

To-night, kind friends, at your tribunal here, 
Stands " The Poor Gentleman," with many a fear ; 
Since well he knows, whoe'er may judge his cause, 
That Poverty's no title to applause. 
Genius or Wit, pray, who'll admire or quote, 
If all their drapery be a threadbare coat ? 
Who, in a world where all is bought and sold, 
Minds a man's worth — except his worth in gold ? 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 23 

"Who'll greet poor Merit if she licks a dinner ? 

Hence, starving saint, but welcome, wealthy sinner! 

Away with Poverty ! let none receive her, 

She bears contagion as a plague or fever ; 

" Bony, and gaunt, and grim" — like jaundiced eyes, 

Discolouring all within her sphere that lies 

* l Poor Gentleman !'* and by poor soldiers, too! 

O matchless impudence! without a sou3 ! 

In scenes, in actors poor, and what far worse is, 

"With heads, perhaps, as empty as their purses, 

How shall they dare at such a bar appear ? 

What are their tactics and manoeuvres here ? 

While thoughts like these come rushing o'er our mind, 
Oh ! may we still indulgence hope to find ? 
Brave sons of Erin ! whose distinguished name 
Shines with such brilliance in the ipaie of Fame, 
And you, fair daughters of the Emerald Isle ! 
View our weak efforts with approving smile ! 
Schooled in rough camps, and still disdaining art, 
111 can the soldier act a borrowed part ; 
The march, the skirmish, in this warlike age, 
Are his rehearsals, and the field his stage ; 
His theatre is found in every land, 
Where wave the ensigns of a hostile band : 
Place him in dangers front — he reeks not where — 
Be your own Wellington his prompter there, 
And on that stage, he trusts, with fearful mien, 
He'll act his part in glory's tragic scene. 
Yet here, though friends are gaily marshall'd round, 
And from bright eyes alone he dreads a wound, 
Here, though in ambush no sharpshooter's wile 
Aims at his breast, save hid in beauty s smile ; 
Though all unused to pause, to doubt, to fear, 



24 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

Yet his heart sinks, his courage fails him here. 
No scenic pomp to him its aid supplies, 
No stage effect of glittering pageantries : 
No, to your kindness he must look alone, 
To realize the hope he dares not own ; 
And trusts, since here he meets no cynic eye, 
His wish to please may claim indemnity. 

And why despair, indulgence when we crave 
From Erin's sons, the generous and the brave ? 
Theirs the high spirit, and the liberal thought, 
Kind, warm, sincere, with native candour fraught ; 
Still has the stranger, in their social isle, 
Met the frank welcome and the cordial smile, 
And well their hearts can share, though unexpress'd, 
Each thought, each feeling, of the soldier's breast. 

In 1812, another and much smaller volume, en- 
titled The Domestic Affections and other Poems, 
was given to the world — the last that was to appear 
with the name of Felicia Browne ; for, in the sum- 
mer of the same year, its author exchanged that ap- 
pellation for the one under which she has become 
so much more generally known. Captain Hemans 
had returned to Wales in the preceding year, when 
the acquaintance was renewed which had begun so 
long before at Gwrych ; and as the sentiments then 
mutually awakened continued unaltered, no further 
opposition was made to a union, on which (how- 
ever little in accordance with the dictates of worldly 
prudence), the happiness of both parties seemed so 
entirely to depend. They soon afterwards took up 
their residence at Daventry, Captain Hemans having 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEM AN S. 25 

been appointed Adjutant to the Northamptonshire 
Local Militia. Here they remained for about a 
twelvemonth, during which time their eldest son, 
Arthur,* was born. The transition from her " own 
mountain land," as she would fondly call it, to a 
country so tame and uninteresting as the neighbour- 
hood of Daventry, was felt by Mrs Hemans to a 
degree almost amounting to the heimweh (home 
sickness) of the Swiss. The only scenery within 
reach of her new abode, which excited any pleasing 
associations, was that of Fawsley Park, of which 
the woods and lawns, the old Hall, with its quaint 
gables and twisted chimneys, and the venerable, 
ivy-mantled church — always retained a place in 
her " chambers of imagery," as presenting a happy 
combination of the characteristic features of an old 
English ancestral demesne. Her sonnet " On an 
old Church in an English Park," published in the 
Scenes and Hymns of Life, though written so 
many years after, was suggested by the recollection 
of this scenery, of which she had made several 
sketches. 

The unexpected reduction of the corps dissolving 
their connexion with a place to which they had no 
other ties, Captain Hemans and his family returned 
to Wales in the following year, and became domi- 
ciliated at Bronwylfa ; from which time, till the 

* This child of many hopes, the first to awaken a mother's 
love, has been the first to rejoin her in the world beyond the 
grave. He died at Rome, in February 1837. 



26 MEMOIR OF MUS HEMANS. 

death of her mother, Mrs Hemans was never again 
withdrawn from the shelter of the maternal wing.* 
Early and deeply was she taught to appreciate the 
blessing of that shelter — the value of that truest 
and tenderest friend, " the mother," to use her own 
words, " by whose unwearied spirit of love and hope 
she was encouraged to bear on through all the ob- 
stacles which beset her path." 

For several succeeding years, the life of Mrs 
Hemans continued to be a scene of almost unin- 
terrupted domestic privacy, her time being divided 
between the cultivation of her wonted studies, and the 
claims of an increasing family. Her five children 
were all sons — a circumstance which many persons 
profess to have discovered from her writings, ia 
which allusions to a mother's love are so frequent, 
and where the " blessed child," so often apostro- 
phised or described, is always, it may be observed, 
a "gentle," or a "gallant," or a " bright- haired" 
boy, whose living image might be found in the 
blooming group around her. Her eagerness for 
knowledge of every kind was intense ; and her in- 
dustry may be attested by volumes, still existing, of 
extracts and transcriptions, almost sufficient to form 
a library in themselves. The mode of her studies 
was, to outward appearance, singularly desultory, as 
she would be surrounded by books of all sizes, in 
divers languages, and on every variety of topic, and 

* Her father had, some time before, again engaged in mer- 
cantile pursuits, and gone out to Quebec, where he died. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 2? 

would seem to be turning from one to another, like 
a bee flying from flower to flower : yet, whatever 
confusion might reign without, all was clear and 
well-defined within. In her mind and memory, the 
varied stores were distinctly arranged, ready to be 
called forth for the happy illustration, the poetic 
imagery, or the witty comparison. She continued the 
study of languages with undiminished ardour, and 
made some progress in the acquisition of Latin. A 
volume of translations published in 1818, might have 
been called by anticipation, " Lays of many Lands." 
At the time now alluded to, her inspirations were 
chiefly derived from classical subjects. The "graceful 
superstitions " of Greece, and the sublime patriot- 
ism of Rome, held an influence over her thoughts 
which is evinced by many of the works of this pe- 
riod — such as, The Restoration of the Works of 
Art to Italy^ Modern Greece^ and several of 
the poems which formed the volume entitled Tales 
and Historic Scenes. 

At this stage of transition, " her poetry," to use 
the words of a judicious critique, f " was correct, 

* This poem is thus alluded to by Lord Byron, in one of 
his published letters to Mr Murray, dated from Diodati, Sept 
30th, 1816. 

Italy or Dalmatia and another summer may, or may not, 

set me off again 

*' I shall take Felicia Kemans's Restoration, &c, with me — 
t is a good poem — very." 

Wiitten by the late Miss Jewsbury (afterwards Mrs 
Fletcher), and published in the Athenamm of Feb. 12th, 1831. 



28 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

classical, and highly polished; but it wanted warmth : 
it partook more of the nature of statuary than of 
painting. She fettered her mind with facts and 
authorities, and drew upon her memory when she 
might have relied upon her imagination. She was 
diffident of herself, and, to quote her own admission, 
" loved to repose under the shadow of mighty names." 
This taste by degrees gave way to one which sug- 
gested a choice of subjects more nearly allied to the 
thoughts and feelings of daily life. She turned from 
the fables of antiquity. 

" Distinct, but distant — clear, but oh ! how cold !'* 
to the more heart-warming traditions of the middle 
ages ; imbuing every theme with the peculiar colour- 
ing of her own mind — her instinctive sense of the 
picturesque, and her intense love of the beautiful. 
Her poetry of this class is so eloquently character- 
ised by the able writer of the article already referred 
to, in the Dublin University Magazine^ that in no 
other language can it be more truly and gracefully 
described. " Tender and enthusiastic, she fed her 
heart upon all things noble, and would tolerate no 
others as the aliment of imagination. She created 
for herself a world of high-souled men and women, 
whose love had no outward glitter, no surface- 
sparkle, but was a deep, o'ermastering stream, strong, 
steady, and unbroken. The men were made to hold 
high feast on days of victory — to lead the resolute 
chivalry of freedom — to consecrate banners in an- 
cient churches, solemnized with rich evening light 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 29 

— to scale the walls of cities or defend them — to 
strike with courage — to endure with fortitude. The 
women to sing hymns of pensive worship — to sit in 
antique bowers, with open missals and attendant 
maidens — to receive at castle gates the true-hearted 
and the brave — to rush amid the spears, and receive 
the wound meant for a sterner heart — to clasp the 
infant snatched from peril at the peril of life — to 
bear uncomplaining agonies — and, above all, to wait 
long, long days for the deceiver who will not re- 
turn ; to know the deadly sickness of a fading hope, 
and, at last to dedicate a broken heart to him who 
has crushed it. These are the people and the achieve- 
ments of her pages ; here is the fountain and prin- 
ciple of her inspirations — Honour deepened and 
sanctified by religion." 

In the year 1818, Captain Hemans, whose health 
had been long impaired by the previous vicissitudes 
of a military life, determined upon trying the effects 
of a southern climate ; and, with this view, repaired 
to Rome, which he was afterwards induced to fix 
upon as his place of residence. It has been alleged, 
and with perfect truth, that the literary pursuits of 
Mrs Hemans, and the education of her children, 
made it more eligible for her to remain under the 
maternal roof, than to accompany her husband to 
Italy. It is, however, unfortunately but too well 
known, that such were not the only reasons which led 
to this divided course. To dwell on this subject 
would be unnecessarily painful, yet it must be stated. 



30 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

that nothing like a permanent separation was con- 
templated at the time, nor did it ever amount to 
more than a tacit conventional arrangement, which 
offered no obstacle to the frequent interchange of 
correspondence, nor to a constant reference to their 
father in all things relating to the disposal of her 
boys. But years rolled on — seventeen years of ab- 
sence, and consequently alienation — and from this 
time to the hour of her death, Mrs Hemans and her 
husband never met again. 

In a position so painful, as must ever be that of 
a woman for whom the most sacred of ties is thus 
virtually broken, all outward consolations can be but 
of secondary value ; yet much of what these could 
afford was granted to Mrs Hemans in the extending 
influence of her talents, the growing popularity of 
her writings, and the warm interest and attachment 
of many private friends. Amongst the most devoted 
of these from an early period of their acquaintance, 
were the family of the late Bishop of St Asaph, the 
good and lamented Dr Luxmoore. In this kind-hearted 
prelate, Mrs Hemans possessed a never-failing friend 
and counsellor, whose advice, in the absence of 
nearer ties, she at all times sought with affectionate 
reliance, and whose approbation she valued with 
appreciating respect. His paternal kindness was not 
confined to herself, but extended with equal indul- 
gence to her children, who were so accustomed to 
the interest he would take in their studies and sports, 
that they seemed to consider themselves as having 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 31 

an inherent right to his notice and favour ; and would 
talk of " their own Bishop " in an amusing tone of 
appropriation. Many years afterwards, in a letter 
from Chiefswood, their mother thus alludes to the 
recollection of former days : " I have been much 
at Abbotsford, where my boys run in and out as if 
they were children of the soil, or as if it were " The 
Palace." 

The poem of The Sceptic, published in 1820, was 
one in which her revered friend took a peculiar 
interest. It had been her original wish to dedicate 
it to him, but he declined the tribute, thinking it 
might be more advantageous to her to pay this compli- 
ment to Mr GifFord, with whom she was at that time 
in frequent correspondence, and who entered very 
warmly into her literary undertakings, discussing 
them with the kindness of an old friend, and desiring 
her to command frankly whatever assistance his ad- 
vice or experience could afford. Mrs Hemans, in 
the first instance, consented to adopt the suggestion 
regarding the altered dedication; but was after- 
wards deterred from putting it into execution, by a 
fear that it might be construed into a manoeuvre to 
propitiate the good graces of the Quarterly Review ; 
and from the slightest approach to any such mode of 
propitiation, her sensitive nature recoiled with almost 
fastidious delicacy. Shortly before the publication 
of The Sceptic, her prize poem, The Meeting of 
Wallace and Bruce on the Banks of the Carron, 



32 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

had appeared in BlackwoocFs Magazine* for Sep- 
tember 181 9. A patriotic individual having signi- 
fied his intention of giving L.1000 towards the 
erection of a monument to Sir William Wallace, 
and a prize of L.50 for the best poem on the subject 
above alluded to, Mrs Hemans was recommended by 
a zealous friend in Edinburgh, to enter the lists as a 
competitor, which she accordingly did, though with- 
out being in the slightest degree sanguine of suc- 
cess ; so that the news of the prize having been 
decreed to her was no less unexpected than grati- 
fying. The number of candidates for this distinc- 
tion was so overwhelming, as to cause not a little 
embarrassment to the judges appointed to decide on 
their merits. A letter, written at the time, describes 
them as being reduced to absolute despair by the 
contemplation of the task which awaited them ; — 
having to read over a mass of poetry that would 
require at least a month to wade through. Some 
of the contributions were from the strangest aspir- 
ants imaginable ; and one of them is mentioned as 
being as long as Paradise Lost At length, how- 
ever, the Herculean labour was accomplished ; and 
the honour awarded to Mrs Hemans on this occa- 
sion, seemed an earnest of the warm kindness and 
encouragement she was ever afterwards to receive at 
the hands of the Scottish public. One of the earliest 

* The stanzas on the " Death of the Princess Charlotte," 
had been published in the same periodical in April 1818. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 33 

notices of The Sceptic appeared in the Edinburgh 
31onthly Magazine ; and there is something in its 
tone so far more valuable than ordinary praise, and at 
the same time so prophetic of the happy influence 
her writings were one day to exercise, that the intro- 
duction of the concluding paragraph may not be un- 
welcome to the readers of this little memorial. 
After quoting from the poem, the reviewer thus 
proceeds : — " These extracts must, we think, convey 
to every reader a favourable impression of the talents 
of their author, and of the admirable purposes to 
which her high gifts are directed. It is the great 
defect, as we imagine, of some of the most popular 
writers of the day, that they are not sufficiently at- 
tentive to the moral dignity of their performances ; 
it is the deep, and will be the lasting reproach of 
others, that in this point of view they have wantonly 
sought and realised the most profound literary abase- 
ment. With the promise of talents not inferior to 
any, and far superior to most of them, the author 
before us is not only free from every stain, but 
breathes all moral beauty and loveliness ; and it will 
be a memorable coincidence if the era of a woman's 
sway in literature shall become co-eval with the re- 
turn of its moral purity and elevation."* From 

* " It is pleasing to record the following tribute from Mrs 
Hannah More, in a letter to a friend who had sent her a copy 
of The Sceptic. ' I cannot refuse myself the gratification of 
Baying, that I entertain a very high opinion of Mrs Hemans's 
Buperior genius and refined taste I rank her, as a poet, very 
I. C 



34 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

suffrages such as these, Mrs Hemans derived not 
merely present gratification, but encouragement and 
cheer for her onward course. It was still dearer to 
her to receive the assurances, with which it often 
fell to her lot to be blessed, of having, in the exer- 
cise of the talents intrusted to her, administered 
balm to the feelings of the sorrowful, or taught the 
desponding where to look for comfort. In a letter 
written at this time to a valued friend, recently 
visited by one of the heaviest of human calamities — 
the loss of an exemplary mother — she thus describes 
her own appreciation of such heart-tributes. " It 
is inexpressibly gratifying to me to know, that you 
should find anything I have written at all adapted to 
your present feelings, and that The Sceptic should 
have been one of the last books upon which the eyes, 
now opened upon brighter scenes, were cast. Per- 
haps, when your mind is sufficiently composed, you 
will inform me which were the passages distinguished 
by the approbation of that pure and pious mind : 
they will be far more highly valued by me than any- 
thing I have ever written." 

The sentiments expressed in the same letter on 

high, and I have seen no work on the subject of her Modern 
Greece, which evinces more just views, or more delicate per- 
ceptions of the fine and the beautiful. I am glad she has em- 
ployed her powerful pen, in this new instance, on a subject so 
worthy of it ; and anticipating the future by the past, I promise 
myself no small pleasure in the perusal, and trust it will not 
only confer pleasure, but benefit.* ' 



MEMOIR OF MRS KEMANS: 35 

the subject of Affliction, its design and influence, 
are so completely a part of herself, that it would 
seem an omission to withhold them. They are em- 
bodied in the following words : — " Your ideas re- 
specting the nature and degree of sorrow for the 
departed, permitted us by that religion which seems 
to speak with the immediate voice of Heaven to af- 
fliction, coincide perfectly with my own. I have 
been hitherto spared a trial of this nature, but I 
have often passed hours in picturing to myself what 
would be the state of my mind under such a visita- 
tion. I am convinced, that though grief becomes 
criminal when it withdraws us from the active du- 
ties of life, yet that the wounds made by " the 
arrows of the Almighty" are not meant to be for- 
gotten. If He who chastens those whom He loves, 
means, as we cannot doubt, by such inflictions to 
recall the Spirit to Himself, and prepare the mortal 
for immortality, the endeavour to obliterate such 
recollections is surely not less in opposition to His 
intentions, than the indulgence of that rebellious 
grief, which repines as if its own sufferings were an 
exception to the general mercies of Heaven. Life 
is but too dear to us, even with all its precarious 
joys and heavy calamities ; and constituted even as 
it is, we can hardly keep our minds fixed upon a 
brighter state with any degree of steadiness. What 
would it, then, be, if we were not continually re- 
minded that " our all does not lie here ;" and if the 
loss of some beloved friend did not constantlv sum- 



36 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAKS. 

mon our wandering thoughts from the present to the 
future ? I was so struck, a few days ago, with the 
concluding passage in the Memoirs of Mrs Brunton, 
that I will not apologize for transcribing part of it, 
as I am sure you will feel its beautiful and affecting 
coincidence. It is from a Funeral Sermon on the 
Death of the Righteous: — " Let me exhort you, as 
you would rise superior to the fear of death, to che- 
rish the memory of those who have already passed 
from the society of the few who were most dear to 
them on earth, to the society of the blessed in Hea- 
ven. How unnatural seems to be the conduct of 
many, whose consolation for the loss of a departed 
friend, appears to depend upon committing his name 
to oblivion ! — who appear to shrink from every ob- 
ject that would for a moment bring to their recol- 
lection the delight they once felt in his society ! If 
such conduct be, in any respect, excusable, it can 
only be in the case of those who have no hope in God. 
There are few, if any, among us, who have not, ere 
now, committed to the tomb the remains of some 
who had been, not only long, but deservedly dear to 
us ; whose virtues are in consequence a satisfying 
pledge, that they have only gone before us to the 
mansions of bliss. Some of us have but recently laid 
in the grave all that was mortal and perishing, of 
one who may well continue to live in our remem- 
brance — whose memory will be a monitor to us of 
those virtues, which may qualify us for being re~ 
united to her society. Though the body mingle with 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 37 

the dust, the spirit, in this case, ' yet speaketh ; ' it 
invites, and, I trust, enables us to anticipate more 
effectually on earth our intercourse with the spirits 
of the just in heaven. Great cause we* no doubt, 
have to mourn over that dispensation of Providence, 
which has, in the mean while, removed from the 
sphere of our converse on earth, one, from whose 
converse we had so invariably derived at once in- 
struction and delight ; — whose piety was so genuine, 
that, while never ostentatiously displayed, it was, as 
little, in any case disguised, — whose mental energies 
communicated such a character and effect to both 
her piety and her active beneficence, that they often 
served the purpose of an example to others, when 
such a purpose was not contemplated by her. Not 
to mourn over a dispensation of Providence, which 
has deprived us of such a blessing, would be incom- 
patible with the design of Providence in visiting 
us with such a cause of affliction. But God forbid 
that we should sorrow as those who have no hope of 
being reunited in heaven to those who have been 
dear to them on earth ! God forbid that we should 
be unwilling in our hearts to conform to the design 
of Providence, when, by removing from us those who 
have been the objects of our regard in this world, it 
would, in some sense, unite earth to heaven, by gra- 
dually weaning us from the world, and gradually 
transferring our hearts to heaven, before we have 
altogether completed the appointed years of our pil- 
grimage on earth ! Let a view of our condition, as 



38 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

the heirs of Heaven, so elevate our minds, as to make 
us now join, with one heart, in the language of our 
Christian triumph — i O death ! where is thy sting ? 
O grave ! where is thy victory ? ' " 

In a subsequent letter to the same friend, and in 
pursuance of the same subject, there is the follow- 
ing allusion to a poem, which Mrs Hemans had even 
then begun to appreciate, though her more perfect 
and " reverential communion " with the spirit of its 
author was reserved for later years. " You may 
remember that I was reading Wordsworth's Ex- 
cursion some time before you left the country. I 
was much struck with the beauty and sublimity of 
some of the religious passages it contains ; and in 
looking over the copious extracts I made from it. 
I observe several, which I think will interest you 
exceedingly. I mean to copy them out, and send 
them to you in a few days : the mingled strain of 
exalted hope and Christian resignation, in which the 
poet speaks of departed friends, struck me so forci- 
bly, that I thought when I transcribed it, how sooth- 
ingly it would speak to the heart of any one who 
had to deplore the loss of some beloved object." 

In the spring of 1820, Mrs Hemans first made 
the acquaintance of one who became afterwards a 
zealous and valuable friend, revered in life, and sin- 
cerely mourned in death — Bishop Heber, then Rec- 
tor of Hodnet, and a frequent visitor at Bodryddan, 
the residence of his father-in-law, the late Dean of 
St Asaph, from whom also, during an intercourse of 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 39 

many years, Mrs Hemans at all times received much 
kindness and courtesy. Mr Reginald Heber was the 
first eminent literary character with whom she had 
ever familiarly associated ; and she therefore entered 
with a peculiar freshness of feeling into the delight 
inspired by his conversational powers, enhanced as 
they were by that gentle benignity of manner, so often 
the characteristic of minds of the very highest order. 
In a letter to a friend on this occasion, she thus 
describes her enjoyment : — " I am more delighted 
with Mr Heber than I can possibly tell you ; his 
conversation is quite rich with anecdote, and every 
subject on which he speaks had been, you would 
imagine, the sole study of his life. In short, his 
society has made much the same sort of impression 
on my mind, that the first perusal of Ivanhoe did ; 
and was something so perfectly new to me, that I 
can hardly talk of anything else. I had a very long- 
conversation with him on the subject of the poem, 
which he read aloud, and commented upon as he 
proceeded. His manner was so entirely that of a 
friend, that I felt perfectly at ease, and did not hesi- 
tate to express all my own ideas and opinions on the 
subject, even where they did not exactly coincide 
with his own." 

The poem here alluded to was the one entitled 
Superstition and Revelation, which Mrs Hemans 
had commenced some time before, and which was 
intended to embrace a very extensive range of sub- 
ject. Her original design will be best given in 



40 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

her own words, from a letter to her friend Miss 
Park : — " I have been thinking a good deal of the 
plan we discussed together, of a poem on national 
superstitions. " Our thoughts are linked by many 
a hidden chain," and in the course of my lucubra- 
tions on this subject, an idea occurred to me, which 
I hope you will not think me too presumptuous in 
wishing to realize. Might not a poem of some ex- 
tent and importance, if the execution were at all 
equal to the design, be produced, from contrasting 
the spirit and tenets of Paganism with those of Chris- 
tianity ? It would contain, of course, much classical 
allusion; and all the graceful and sportive fictions 
of ancient Greece and Italy, as well as the supersti- 
tions of more barbarous climes, might be introduced 
to prove how little consolation they could convey in 
the hour of affliction, or hope, in that of death. 
Many scenes from history might be portrayed in 
illustration of this idea ; and the certainty of a future 
state, and of the immortality of the soul, which we 
derive from revelation, are surely subjects for poetry 
of the highest class. Descriptions of those regions 
which are still strangers to the blessings of our 
religion, such as the greatest part of Africa, India, 
&c=, might contain much that is poetical ; but the 
subject is almost boundless, and I think of it till I 
am startled by its magnitude." 

Mr Heber approved highly of the plan of the 
work, and gave her every encouragement to pro- 
ceed in it ; supplying her with many admirable sug- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 41 

gestions, both as to the illustrations which might be 
introduced with the happiest effect, and the sources 
from whence the requisite information would best be 
derived. But the great labour and research neces- 
sary to the development of a plan which included 
the superstitions of every age and country, from the 
earliest of all idolatries — the adoration of the sun, 
moon, and host of heaven, alluded to in the book of 
Job — to the still existing rites of the Hindoos — 
would have demanded a course of study too engros- 
sing to be compatible with the many other claims, 
both domestic and literary, which daily pressed more 
and more upon the author's time. The work was, 
therefore, laid aside ; and the fragment now first pub- 
lished, is all that remains of it, though the project 
was never distinctly abandoned. About this time,. 
Mrs Hemans was an occasional contributor to the 
Edinburgh Monthly Magazine, then conducted by 
the Rev. Robert Morehead, whose liberal courtesy 
in the exercise of his editorial office, associated many 
agreeable recollections with the period of this literary 
intercourse. Several of her poems appeared in the 
above-mentioned periodical, as also a series of papers 
on foreign literature, which, with very few exceptions, 
were the only prose compositions she ever gave to 
the world ; and, indeed, to these papers such a dis- 
tinctive appellation is perhaps scarcely applicable ; as 
the prose writing maybe considered subordinate to the 
poetical translations, which it is used to introduce. 
Much has been said of the retirement in which this 



42 MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS. 

part of Mrs Hemans's life was passed ; but perhaps 
the best idea of it may be formed from her own 
words, in a letter written in October 1820, during 
a visit she was paving to a happy home circle, at Wa- 
vertree Lodge, near Liverpool, the family of the 
late Henry Park, Esq., whose life of unwearied be- 
nevolence and scientific distinction, was then, like 
the golden sunset of a long bright day, calmly draw- 
ing towards its close, in the fullest enjoyment of 

" That which should accompany old age, 

As Honour, Love, Obedience, troops of friends;" 

amongst which friends none were more favoured or 
more attached than Mrs Hemans herself. " I can- 
not tell you how much I have enjoyed the novelty 
of all the objects around me. The pastoral seclu- 
sion and tranquillity of the life I have led for the 
last seven or eight years, had left my mind in that 
state of blissful ignorance particularly calculated to 
render every new impression an agreeable one ; and 
accordingly, gas-lights, steam-boats, Mr Kean, casts 
from the Elgin marbles, and tropical plants in the 
Botanic Garden, have all in turn, been the objects 
of my wondering admiration. I saw Kean in two 
characters, Richard the Third, and Othello, and 
can truly say, I felt as if I had never understood 
Shakspeare till then. I shall never forget the sort 
of electric light which seemed to flash across my 
mind from the bursts of power he displayed in sev- 
eral of my favourite passages." 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 43 

It was either during the present, or a future visit 
to the same friends, that the jeu d/ esprit was pro- 
duced, which Mrs Hemans used to call her " sheet 
of forgeries" on the use of the word Barb. A gen- 
tleman had requested her to furnish him with some 
authorities from the old English writers, proving 
that this term was in use as applied to a steed. She 
very shortly supplied him with the following imita- 
tions, which were written down almost impromptu : 
the mystification succeeded perfectly, and was not 
discovered until some time afterwards : — 

The warrior donn'd his well-worn garb, 

And proudly waved his crest, 
He mounted on his jet-black barb, 

And put his lance in rest. 

Percy's Reliques. 

Eftsoons the wight, withouten more delay, 
Spurr'd his brown barb and rode full swiftly on his way. 

Spenser. 

Hark! was it not the trumpet's voice I heard? 
The soul of battle is awake within me ! 
The fate of ages and of empires hangs 
On this dread hour. Why am I not in arms ! 
Bring my good lance, caparison my steed ! 
Base, idle grooms ! are ye in league against me ? 
Haste with my barb, or by the holy saints, 
Ye shall not live to saddle him to-morrow ! 

Massinger.* 

* An amusing proof of the success of this imitation has re- 
cently appeared, in the selection of the first four lines of this 



44 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

No sooner had the pearl-shedding fingers of the young Au- 
rora tremulously unlocked the oriental portals of the golden 
horizon, than the graceful flower of chivalry, and the bright 
cynosure of ladies' eyes — he of the dazzling breast-plate and 
swanlike plume — sprang impatiently from the couch of slumber, 
and eagerly mounted the noble barb presented to him by the 
Emperor of Aspramontania. 

Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia. 

See'st thou yon chief whose presence seems to rule 
The storm of battle ? Lo ! where'er he moves 
Death follows. Carnage sits upon his crest — 
Fate on his sword is throned — and his white barb, 
As a proud courser of Apollo's chariot, 
Seems breathing fire. 

Potter's JEschylus. 

Oh ! bonnie look'd my ain true knight, 

His barb so proudly reining ; 
I watch'd him till my tearfu' sight 

Grew amaist dim wi' straining. 

Border Minstrelsy, 

Why, he can heel the lavolt and wind a fiery barb as well as 
any gallant in Christendom. He's the very pink and mirror 
of accomplishment. 

Shakspeare. 

Fair star of beauty's heaven ! to call thee mine, 

All other joys I joyously would yield ; 
My knightly crest, my bounding barb resign, 

For the poor shepherd's crook and daisied field ; 

passage for a motto to one of the chapters of Mr Cooper's 
" Homeward Bound,'' where they are given as a real quotation 
from Massinger. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 45 

For courts, or camps, no wish my soul would prove, 
So thou wouldst live with me and be my love ! 

Earl of Surrey's Poems. 

For thy dear love my weary soul hath grown 
Heedless of youthful sports : I seek no more 

Or joyous dance, or music's thrilling tone, 

Or joys that once could charm in minstrel lore, 

Or knightly tilt where steel-clad champions meet, 

Borne on impetuous barbs to bleed at beauty's feet. 

Shakspeare's Sonnets. 

As a warrior clad 
In sable arms, like chaos dull and sad, 

But mounted on a barb as white 

As the fresh new-born light, — 

So the black night too soon 
Came riding on the bright and silver moon, 

Whose radiant heavenly ark, 
Made all the clouds beyond her influence seem 

E'en more than doubly dark, 
Mourning, all widowed of her glorious beam. 

Cowley. 

Amongst the very few specimens that have been 
preserved of Mrs Hemans's livelier effusions, which 
she never wrote with any other view than the mo- 
mentary amusement of her own immediate circle, is 
a letter addressed about this time to her sister, who 
was then travelling in Italy. The following ex- 
tracts from this familiar epistle may serve to show 
her facility in a style of composition which she lat- 
terly entirely discontinued. The first part alludes 
to a strange fancy produced by an attack of fever, 



46 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAXS, 

the description of which had given rise to many 
pleasantries — being an imaginary voyage to China, 
performed in a cocoa-nut shell, with that eminent 
old English worthy, John Evelyn : — 

Apropos of your illness, pray give, if you please, 
Some account of the converse you held on High Seas, 
With Evelyn, the excellent author of " Sylva," 
A work that is very much prized at Bronwylfa. 
I think that old Neptune was visited ne'er 
In so well-rigged a ship, by so well-matched a pair. 
There could not have fallen, dear H., to your lot any 
Companion more pleasant, since you're fond of Botany, 
And his horticultural talents are known, 
Just as well as Canova's for fashioning stone. 

Of the vessel you sailed in. I just will remark, 
That I ne'er heard before of so curious a bark. 
Of Gondola, Coracle, Pirogue, Canoe, 
I have read very often, as doubtless have you : 
Of the Argo, conveying that hero, young Jason ; 
Of the ship moored by Trajan in Nemi's deep basin; 
Of the galley, (in Plutarch you'll find the description), 
Which bore along Cydnus the royal Egyptian ; 
Of that wonderful frigate (see " Curse of Kehama")} 
Which wafted fair Kailyal to regions of Brama, > 

And the venturous barks of Columbus and Gama. * 
But Columbus and Gama to you must resign a 
Full half of their fame, since your voyage to China, 
(I'm astonished no shocking disaster befel), 
In that swift-sailing first-rate — a cocoa-nut shell ! 

I hope, my dear H., that you touched at Loo Choo, 
That abode of a people so gentle and true, 
Who with arms and with money have nothing to do. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 47 

How calm must their lives be ! — so free from all fears, 

Of running in debt, or of running on spears ! 

Oh dear ! what an Eden ! — a land without money ! 

It excels e'en the region of milk and of honey, 

Or the Vale of Cashmere, as described in a book, 

Full of musk, gems and roses, and called " Lalla Rookh. ,T 

But of all the enjoyments you have, none would e'er be 
More valued by me, than a chat with Acerbi, 
Of whose travels, related in elegant phrases, 
I have seen many extracts, and heard many praises, 
And have copied (you know I let nothing escape), 
His striking account of the frozen North Cape. 
I think 'twas in his works I read long ago, 
(Tve not the best memory for dates, as you know), 
Of a warehouse, where sugar and treacle were stored, 
Which took fire (I suppose being made but of board), 
In the icy domains of some rough northern hero, 
Where the cold was some fifty degrees below zero. 
Then from every burnt cask as the treacle ran out, 
And in streams, just like lava, meandered about, 
You may fancy the curious effect of the weather, 
The frost, and the fire, and the treacle together. 
When my first for a moment had hardened my last, 
My second burst out, and all melted as fast ; 
To win their sweet prize long the rivals fought on, 
But I quite forget which of the elements won. 

But a truce with all joking — I hope you'll excuse me, 
Since I know you still love to instruct and amuse me, 
For hastily putting a few questions down, 
To which answers from you all my wishes will crown 
For you know I'm so fond of the land of Corinne, 
That my thoughts are still dwelling its precincts withiD, 



48 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

And I read all that authors, or gravely, or wittily. 

Or wisely, or foolishly, write about Italy ; 

From your shipmate, John Evelyn's, amusing old tour, 

To Forsyth's owe volume, and Eustace's four, 

In spite of Lord Byron, or Hobhouse, who glances 

At the classical Eustace, and says he romances. 

Pray describe me from Venice (don't think it a bore), 
The literal state of the famed Bucentaur ; 
And whether the horses, that once were the sun's, 
Are of bright yellow brass, or of dark dingy bronze, 
For some travellers say one thing, and some say another, 
And I can't find out which, they all make such a pother. 
Oh ! another thing too, which I'd nearly forgot, 
Are the songs of the Gondoliers pleasing or not? 
These are matters of moment, you'll surely allow, 
For Venice must interest all, even now. 

These points being settled, I ask for no more hence, 
But should wish for a few observations from Florence. 
Let me know if the Palaces Strozzi and Pitti 
Are finished — if not 'tis a shame for the city, 
To let one for ages — was e'er such a thing? 
Its entablature want, and the other its wing. 
Say, too, if the Dove (should you be there at Easter, 
And watch her swift flight, when the priests have released 

her), 
Is a turtle, or ring-dove, or but a wood- pigeon, 
Which makes people gulls, in the name of Religion? 
Pray tell, if the forests of famed Vallombrosa 
Are cut down or not, for this, too, is a Cosa 
About which I'm anxious — as also to know 
If the Pandects, so famous long ages ago, 
Came back (above all, don't forget this to mention) 
To that manuscript library called the Laurentian. 



MEMOIH OF MRS HEMANS. 49 

Since I wrote the above, I, by chance, have found out, 
That the horses are bright yellow brass, beyond doubt ; 
So I'll ask you but this, the same subject pursuing, 
Do you think they are truly Lysippus's doing ? 

When to Naples you get, let me know, if you will, 
If the Acqua Toffana's in fashion there still, 
For, not to fatigue you with needless verbosity, 
'Tis a point upon which I feel much curiosity. 
I should like to have also, and not written shabbily, 
Your opinion about the Piscina mirabile ; 
And whether the tomb, which is near Sannazaro's, 
Is decided by you to be really Maro's. 

In June 1821, Mrs Hemans obtained the prize 
awarded by the Royal Society of Literature for the 
best poem on the subject of Dartmoor* On this 
occasion, as on every other, her chief enjoyment of 
success was derived from the happiness it created in 
those around her. That " Fame can only afford 
reflected delight to a woman," was a sentiment she 
unceasingly felt and expressed ; and she never was 
more truly herself than in writing to Miss Mitford. 
"Do you know that I often think of you, and of the 
happiness you must feel in being able to run to your 
father and mother with all the praises you receive." 
In the " kind, approving eye," the " meek, attentive 
ear" of her own fond mother, she possessed a source 
of pure happiness, too soon, alas ! withdrawn. When 
absent from her brothers and sister, almost the first 
thought that would occur to her, on occasions like 
the present, was a longing impatience for them to 
hear of her good fortune ; and the tumultuous exul- 



50 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

tation of her boys, was a far dearer tribute than the 
praise of the mightiest critic. On hearing of the 
success of Dartmoor, she thus wrote to the friends 
who had been the first to communicate it to her. 

" What with surprise, bustle, and pleasure, I am 
really almost bewildered. I wish you had but seen 
the children, when the prize was announced to 
them yesterday. Arthur, you know, had so set his 
heart upon it, that he was quite troublesome with 
his constant inquiries on the subject. He sprang up 
from his Latin exercise and shouted aloud, 6 Now, 
I am sure mamma is a better poet than Lord 
Byron !' * Their acclamations were actually deaf- 
ening, and George | said that the c excess of his 
pleasure had really given him a headache/ The 
Bishop's kind communication put us in possession of 
the gratifying intelligence a day sooner than we 
should otherwise have known it, as I did not receive 
the Secretary's letter till this morning. Besides the 
official announcement of the prize, his despatch also 
contained a private letter, with which, although it 
is one of criticism, I feel greatly pleased, as it shows 
an interest in my literary success, which from so 
distinguished a writer as Mr Croly, (of course you 
have read his poem of Paris,) cannot but be highly 
gratifying." 

* It is scarcely necessary to remark, that the comparison 
originated solely with the boy himself. 

•f George Willcughby Hemans, the eldest of her surviving 
sons, now a promising young civil engineer. 



MEMOIll OF MRS HEMANS. 51 

Mrs Hemans was at this time occupied in the 
composition of her tragedy, The Vespers of Palermo, 
which she originally wrote, without any idea of offer- 
ing it for the stage. The sanguine recommenda- 
tions, however, of Mr Reginald Heher, and the 
equally kind encouragement of Mr Milman (to whose 
correspondence she was introduced through the me- 
dium of a mutual friend, though she had never the 
advantage of his personal acquaintance), induced her 
to venture upon a step which her own diffidence 
would have withheld her from contemplating, but 
for the support of such high literary authorities. 
Indeed, notwithstanding the flattering encomiums 
which were bestowed upon the tragedy by all who 
read it, and most especially by the critics of the 
green room, whose imprimatur might have been 
supposed a sufficiently safe guarantee of success, 
her own anticipations, throughout the long period 
of suspense which intervened between its acceptance 
and representation, were far more modified than 
those of her friends. In this subdued tone of feel- 
ing she thus wrote to Mr Milman : — " As I cannot 
help looking forward to the day of trial with much 
more of dread than of sanguine expectation, I most 
willingly acquiesce in your recommendations of delay, 
and shall rejoice in having the respite as much 
prolonged as possible. I begin almost to shudder 
at my own presumption, and, if it were not for 
the kind encouragement I have received from you 
and Mr Reginald Heber, should be much more anx- 



52 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

iously occupied in searching for any outlet of escape, 
than in attempting to overcome the difficulties which 
seem to obstruct my onward path."* These mis- 
givings were but too well justified by the ultimate 
fate of the piece ; but, as this remained in abeyance 
for two years longer, it will be again alluded to in 
the proper order of date. 

Mrs Hemans's familiar letters of this period, ex- 
hibit a singular mixture of maternal and literary 
anxieties. In one of them, she says — " I have not 
been able, I am sorry to say, to pay the least atten- 
tion to my Welsh studies, since your departure. I 
am so fearful of not having the copying of the tra- 
gedy completed by the time my brother and sister 
return, and I have such a variety of nursery inter- 

* " Oh ! what troubled billows," wrote she to an intimate 
friend, "have I launched my paper boat upon, in writing this 
play ! If I get through them as well as we did through the 
awful hurricane, of which you have given us so many melan« 
choly particulars, it will be marvellous indeed. We escaped 
wonderfully, and, strange to say, every one in the house but 
myself, slept quietly the greater part of the night, which, I 
think, argued great stupidity. For me, I have "given too 
many pledges to fortune," as Lord Bacon says, to feel so tran- 
quil, with "' such a dreadful pother o'er our heads ;" and I must 
say, I never passed a night of such awful suspense. The deep, 
rosy sleep of the children quite affected me to look at. Hea- 
ven be praised ! no accident of any serious consequence oc- 
curred in our neighbourhood, and I do think there never will 
be such a storm again, because the winds must have '* cracked 
their cheeks," so as to be quite unable to blow anymore." 






MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 53 

ruptions, that what with the murdered Provencals, 
George's new clothes, Mr Morehead's Edinburgh 
Magazine, Arthur's cough, and his Easter holidays, 
besides the dozen little riots which occur in my 
colony every day, my ideas are sometimes in such a 
state of rotatory motion, that it is with great diffi- 
culty I can reduce them to any sort of order." 

In another letter, she writes — "You will smile 
when I tell you of my having stolen time to-day 
from much more serious employments, for the very 
important purpose of making garlands for my little 
boys to dance with, as it is the birthday of my 
youngest." 

About this time, the return of her sister from 
Germany, and the ample supplies of new books fur- 
nished to her by her eldest brother, then with the 
embassy at Vienna (the ever ready minister to her 
tastes, no less than the unfailing support in her 
trials), induced her to devote herself with enthusiasm 
to the study of German, which, from thenceforward 
she may be said to have taken to her heart with a 
kind of affectionate adoption. She never spoke of 
it without warmly acknowledging how many sources 
of intellectual enjoyment and expansion it had opened 
to her ; and could well have understood the feelings 
of the celebrated Venetian paintress, Rosalba Car- 
riera, who, as we are told by Mrs Jameson,* used, 
after her return to Italy from Dresden, to say her 

* See '« Visits and Sketches at Home and Abroad," vol. ii. 
p. 115. 



54 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

prayers in German, " because the language was so 
expressive." In this predilection, as in every other, 
it was always a true pleasure to Mrs Hemans to meet 
with a corresponding taste in any of her friends. In 
one of her letters, she says — " I am so delighted 
when I meet with any one who knows and loves my 
favourite seelenvolle* German, that I believe I could 
talk of it for ever." And, in another, — " I do assure 
you, that when any of my friends enjoy what has 
been a source of enjoyment to myself, I feel all the 
pleasure of a child who has found a companion to 
play with his flowers." 

She in general preferred the writings of Schiller 
to those of Goethe, and could for ever find fresh 
beauties in Wallenstein, with which she was equally 
familiar in its eloquent original, and in Coleridge's 
magnificent translation, or, as it may truly be called, 
transfusion. Those most conversant with her lite- 
rary tastes, will remember her almost actual, rela- 
tion-like love for the characters of Max and Thekla, 
whom, like many other " beings of the mind," she 
had learned to consider as friends ; and her constant 
quotations of certain passages from this noble tra- 
gedy, which peculiarly accorded with her own views 
and feelings. In the Stimmen der Volker in Lieder 
of Herder, she found a rich store of thoughts and 
suggestions ; and it was this work which inspired her 
with the idea of her own Lays of many Lands, 
most of which appeared originally in the New 

* Full of soul. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 55 

Monthly Magazine, then edited by Mr Campbell. 
She also took great delight in the dreamy beauties 
of Novalis and Tieck, and in what has been grace- 
fully characterised by Mr Chorley, as the " moon- 
light tenderness" of Oehlenschlager. Of the works 
of the latter, her especial favourite was Coreggio ; 
and of Tieck, Stei^nbald's Wanderungen, which she 
often made her out-of-doors companion. It was 
always an especial mark of her love for a book, and 
of her considering it true to nature, and to the best 
wisdom of the heart,* when she promoted it to the 
list of those with which she would " take sweet coun- 
sel" amidst the woods and fields. 

But, amongst all these names of power, none 
awakened a more lively interest in her mind, than 
that of the noble-hearted Korner, the young soldier- 
bard, who, in the words of Professor B outer wek, 
" would have become a distinguished tragic poet, 
had he not met with the still more glorious fate of 
falling on the field of battle, while fighting for the 
deliverance of Germany." The stirring events of 
his life, the heroism of his early death, and the beau- 
tiful tie which subsisted between him and his onlv 
sister, whose fate was so touchingly bound up with 
his own, formed a romance of real life, which could 
not fail to excite feelings of the warmest enthusiasm 

* " One of our poets says, with equal truth and beauty, 
1 The heart is wise.' We should be not only happier but better 
if we attended more to its dictates.*' — Ethel Churchill, by 
L. E. L. y vol. i. p. 234. 



56 MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS. 

in a bosom so ready as hers, to respond to all 
things high and holy. The lyric of The Grave of 
Korner, is, perhaps, one of the most impressive Mrs 
Hemans ever wrote. Her whole heart was in a sub- 
ject which so peculiarly combined the two strains 
dearest to her nature, the chivalrous and the tender. 

" They were but two, and when that spirit passM, 
Wo to the one, the last ! " 

That mournful echo — " They were but two," was, 
by some indefinable association, connected in her 
mind with another and far differing brother and sis- 
ter, called into existence by the magic pen of Scott. 
The affecting ejaculation, " There are but two of 
us ! " so often repeated by the hapless Clara Mow- 
bray in St Ronan's Well, was frequently quoted by 
Mrs Hemans as an instance of the deepest pathos. 
The lyric in question was, it is believed, one of the 
first tributes which appeared in England, to the me- 
mory of the author of TJie Lyre and Sword, though 
his name has since become " familiar in our ears as 
household words." A translation of the Life of 
Korner, with selections from his poems, &c, was 
published in 1827, by G. F. Richardson, Esq., whose 
politeness in presenting a copy of the work to Mrs 
Hemans, inscribed with a dedicatory sonnet, led to 
an interchange of letters with that gentleman, and 
was further the means of procuring for her the high 
gratification of a direct message, full of the most 
feeling acknowledgment, from the venerable father of 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 57 

the hero, who afterwards addressed to her a poetical 
tribute from Theodore Korner's Father. Her plea- 
sure in receiving this genuine offering was thus ex- 
pressed to Mr Richardson, who had been the medium 
through which it reached her. " Theodor Korner's 
Vater I — it is, indeed, a title, beautifully expressing 
all the holy pride which the memory of die treuen 
Todten * must inspire ; and awakening every good 
and high feeling to its sound. I shall prize the lines 
as a relic. Will you be kind enough to assure M. 
Korner, with my grateful respects, of the value which 
will be attached to them, a value so greatly enhanced 
by their being in his own hand. They are very beau- 
tiful, I think, in their somewhat antique and treu- 
herzig\ simplicity, and worthy to have proceeded 
from Theodor Korner's Vater? 

The following almost literal translation of these 
lines, is given by W. B. Chorley, Esq., in his inter- 
esting little volume, The Lyre and Sword, pub- 
lished in 1834:— 

u Gently a voice from afar is borne to the ear of the mourner ; 
Mildly it soundeth, yet strong, grief in his bosom to soothe ; 
Strong in the soul-cheering faith, that hearts have a share in 

his sorrow, 
In whose depths all things holy and noble are shrined. 
From that land once dearly belov'd by our brave one, the 

fallen, 
Mourning blent with bright fame — cometh a wreath for his 

urn. 
Hail to thee, England the free ! thou see'st in the German no 

stranger. 

* The faithful dead. f True-hearted. 



58 MEMOIR OF MRS HE-MANS. 

Over the earth and the seas, joined be both- lands, heart and 
hand !" 

There was nothing which delighted Mrs Hemans 
more in German literature, than the cordial feeling 
of brotherhood, so conspicuous amongst its most 
eminent authors, and their freedom from all the petty 
rivalries and manoeuvres, on which she herself looked 
down with as much of wonder, as of contempt. In a 
letter, in which she speaks of the bitterness, and jea- 
lousy, and strife, pervading the tone of many of our 
own Reviews, she adds, turning to a brighter picture 
with a feeling of relief, like that of one emerging 
from the heated atmosphere of a city to breathe the 
fresh air of the mountains. — " How very different 
seems the spirit of literary men in Germany ! I am 
just reading a work of Tieck's, which is dedicated 
to Schlegel ; and I am delighted with the beautiful 
simplicity of these words in the dedication. 

" i Es war eine schone Zeitmeines Lebens> als ich 
dich und deinen Bruder Friedrich zuerst kennen 
lernte ; eine nnch schonere als wir und Novalis fir 
Kunst und Wissenschaft vereinigt lebten, und uns 
in mannigfaltigen Bestrebungen begegneten, Jetzt 
hat uns das Schicksal schon seit vielen Jahren 
getrennt. Ich kann nur in Geist und in der 
Erinnerung mit dir lebenJ * Is not that union of 
bright minds, fur Kunst und Wissenschaft, a pic- 
ture on which it is delightful to repose ? " 

* " That was a bright era in my life when I first learned to 
know you and your brother Frederick ; a still brighler, when 



MEMOIH OF MRS HEMANS. 59 

Mrs Hemans's familiar correspondence of the year 
1822, contains many humorous complaints of the 
perpetual disturbance she endured from the inroads 
of masons and carpenters, who were employed in 
certain alterations and additions at Bronwylfa. It 
was in the desperation occasioned by these circum- 
stances that she was at last, as has been elsewhere 
recorded, driven to seek refuge in the laundry, from 
which classical locality, she was wont to say, it could 
be no wonder if sadly mangled lines were to issue. 

Some of her lamentations over these grievances 
were poured forth in such strains as the following : 
— " I entreat you to pity me — I am actually in the 
melancholy situation of Lord Byron's ' scorpion 
girt by fire ' — < Her circle narrowing as she goes,' 
for I have been pursued by the household troops 
through every room successively, and begin to think 
of establishing my metier in the cellar ; though I 
dare say, if I were to fix myself as comfortably in a 
hogshead, as Diogenes himself, it would immedi- 
ately be discovered that some of the hoops or staves 
wanted repair. 

" When you talk of tranquillity and a quiet home, 
I stare about in wonder, having almost lost the re- 
collection of such things, and the hope that they may 
probably be regained some time or other. I be- 

we and Novalis lived united for art and knowledge, and emu- 
lated one another in various competitions. Fate has since, for 
many years, divided us. I tan now live with you only in spirit 
and in memory." 



60 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

lieve I told you that I had been obliged to vacate 
my own room, and submit to the complete dislodge- 
ment of my books, together with the dust, cobwebs, 
and other appurtenances thereunto belonging. i If 
there be any love of mercy' in you, I hope you will 
feel a proper degree of commiseration towards me 
in my extremity ." 

A few weeks later, she writes — " We continue in 
the same state of tumult and confusion, wherein we 
have existed, as it appears to my recollection, time 
immemorial. There is a war of old grates with 
new grates, and plaister and paint with dust and 
cobwebs, carrying on in this once tranquil abode, 
with a vigour and animosity productive of little less 
din than that occasioned by 'lance to lance, and 
horse to horse/ I assure you, when I make my 
escape about 'fall of eve' to some of the green, 
quiet hay-fields by which we are surrounded, and 
look back at the house, which, from a little distance, 
seems almost, like Shakspeare's moonlight, to ' sleep 
upon the bank,' I can hardly conceive how so gentle- 
looking a dwelling can contrive to send forth such 
an incessant clatter of obstreperous sound through 
its honeysuckle-fringed window. It really reminds 
me of a pretty shrew, whose amiable smiles would 
hardly allow a casual observer to suspect the possi- 
bility of so fair a surface being occasionally ruffled 
by storms." 

During these days of confusion, her two eldest 
boys, Arthur and George, had been sent away for a 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 61 

few weeks to the house of a clergyman, whose pupils 
they had been, during his previous residence in the 
neighbourhood of St Asaph. It was their first ab- 
sence from home, and was consequently considered 
as an era of no small importance. Their mother 
would often afterwards refer to the day on which 
she went with her sister to fetch them home, as one 
of the white days of her life. The little journey 
(about twenty miles,) was in itself an enjoyable one. 
The remote village* at which they were staying, is 
quite embosomed amongst the mountains, and only 
approachable by narrow shaded lanes, seldom tra- 
versed by a carriage. It was one of those glorious 
summer days when all nature seems to rejoice, 

" As if earth contained no tomb." 

The quiet beauty of the " hill-country," with its 
bright streams and rich verdure smiling in the sun- 
shine ; the joyous song of the sky-lark (never heard 
so triumphantly as amongst the mountains), — the 
peculiar luxuriance of the ferns and fox-glove f 
which fringed the way-side, and even the grotesque 

* Bettws Gwerfil goch. 

f This luxuriance was so remarkable, that, by one of the 
party, the fox-glove has never been seen since, without a re- 
collection of that day, and of the information then first obtained, 
of its pretty Welsh name, Menyg Ellyllon, fairies' gloves, from 
which some learned authorities have traced its common appel- 
lation as a corruption of folk's glove; the fairies being desig- 
nated as " the good folk." 



62 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAXS. 

ruggedness of tlie road, which gave to the excur- 
sion almost an air of adventure — were all felt and 
enjoyed as such things must ever be by the lover of 
nature : and when at last the little parsonage ap- 
peared in sight, and the two happy boys came rush- 
ing down a green slope behind it, flapping their 
pinafores in ecstacy, and uttering a thousand joyful 
exclamations at the sight of the carriage, it was 
indeed a bright picture, and a moment not easily to 
be forgotten. Then came the kind welcome of the 
host and hostess, the important air of ciceroneism 
with which the two boys proceeded to do the ho- 
nours of the village, the church, the bridge, all the 
wonders, in short, of the little world around them — 
and then the charms of the evening drive home, 
the thousand questions to be asked and answered 
on each side, and finally, the gladsome meeting with 
grandmamma, and the three merry little brothers in 
the nursery. 

About this time, after reading the then new novel 
of The Fortunes of Nigel, Mrs Hemans had inad- 
vertently mentioned it, in a letter to a friend, as 
giving an admirable picture of the times of James 
the Second. On recollecting her mistake, she lost 
no time in making the following recantation: — " I 
am somewhat uneasy at having committed myself, 
as I just now recollect, by telling you that the scene 
of The Fortunes of Nigel is laid in the times of 
James the Second. If you have read the book, you 
are not the person to treat such — 



MEMOIR OF MRS IIEMANS. 63 

" Misquoting, mis-stating:, 
Misplacing, misdating," 

with the smallest degree of compassion. I shall cer- 
tainly suffer for it, and be the unhappy subject of 
one of the three modes of showing disdain, practised 
in the days of good Queen Bess, viz., " the broad 
flout, the fleering frump, and the privy nip." If 
you have not (that is, not read Nigel), you may be 
committing yourself, and that not merely as an indi- 
vidual, but as a member of the " very noble and ap- 
proved" Literary and Critical Society of St Asaph, 
by quoting the anachronism into which I have led 
you. I therefore write to-day, for the sole purpose 
of throwing the burden off my mind, and you may 
set it down in the list of my errata, that I told you 
Nigel described the court and manners of James the 
Second, instead of the First, the 

" Bonnie King James who from Scotland came." 
I am sure, the very idea of his quilted doublet is 
enough to give one a fever such a day as this. I 
wish I were with those people in South America, 
who hold their assemblies and conversazioni every 
evening in a river. There they sit, gossiping in 
their elbow chairs ; and, I dare say, the chief con- 
versation, like that over our own tea-tables, turns 
upon the heat or coolness of the water. But I am 
quite forgetting that I had not a word to say to you 
except about Nigel, and, moreover, dinner is going 
in. Dinner ! I wonder if " genteel families" are at 
dinner now in the dog-star. 



64 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" You're hot if you don't eat at all, 
You're hotter if you do." 

Nevertheless, to the latter alternative, I must sub- 
mit at present ; therefore, good bye." 

In the autumn of this year (1822), Mrs Hemans 
had the good fortune to make an acquaintance, not 
only highly interesting in itself, but most advanta- 
geous in a literary point of view — that of William 
Jacob, Esq., the well-known author of Travels in 
Spain and in Germany, and of several other valu- 
able statistical works. 

This gentleman, whilst travelling through Wales, 
accompanied by one of his daughters, paid a visit to 
Bronwylfa, which, leaving nothing to regret but the 
shortness of its duration, laid the foundation of a long 
series of kind and active services on the one part, 
and of grateful appreciation on the other. " Believe 
me," wrote Mrs Hemans to Miss Jacob, " the few 
hours we passed in your society will be long remem- 
bered ; and, to use an expression of our old Welsh 
bards, we shall look back to them " as to green 
spots on the floods ;" for our paths, in this retired 
part of the world, are seldom crossed by those who 
leave any deeper impression upon our memory than 
" the little lines of yesterday." 

The bardic expression above alluded to, with many 
others, equally quaint and figurative, was frequently 
quoted by Mrs Hemans, who took infinite delight in 
all that related to the ancient days of Wales, and 
was at this time engaged in an undertaking, which, 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 65 

from the course of reading it led to, initiated her 
into much that was striking and original in the le- 
gendary lore of her adopted country. The noble 
motto for all the proceedings of the old Welsh bards. 
— " In the face of the sun, and in the eye of light," 
was one completely after her own heart, and in 
perfect accordance with the transparent guileless- 
ness of a character to which the conventional insin- 
cerities of every-day life were so unutterably dis- 
tasteful. It is, indeed, impossible to insist too much 
upon this peculiar characteristic, which, rendering 
her as unsuspicious of evil thoughts in others, as 
she was incapable of them herself, laid her open in 
a thousand ways to the misconstructions of those 
" children of this world" who are, " in their gene- 
ration, wiser than the children of light. " To return, 
however, to her favourite ancient Britons, whom she 
thus introduced to the notice of her new friend : — 
" The idea entertained of the bardic character, ap- 
pears to me particularly elevated and beautiful. 
The bard was not allowed, in any way, to become a 
party in political or religious dispute ; he was recog- 
nised so completely as the herald of peace, under the 
title of * Bard of the Isle of Britain,' that a naked 
weapon was not allowed to be displayed in his pre- 
sence. He passed unmolested from one hostile coun- 
try to another ; and, if he appeared in his uni-coloured 
robe (which was azure, being the emblem of peace 
and truth) between two contending armies, the battle 
was immediately suspended. One of the general 



66 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

titles of the order was, < Those who are free through- 
out the world/ and their motto, ; The truth against 
the world.' " 

The Voice of Spring, perhaps the best known and 
best loved of all Mrs Hemans's lyrics, was written 
early in the year 1823 ; and is thus alluded to in a 
letter to a friend, who had lately suffered a severe 
and sudden bereavement : — " The Voice of Spring 
expresses some peculiar feelings of my own, although 
my life has yet been unvisited by any affliction so 
deeply impressive, in all its circumstances, as the one 
you have been called upon to sustain. Yet I cannot 
but feel every year, with the return of the violet, how 
much the shadows of my mind have deepened since 
its last appearance ; and to me the spring, with all 
its joy and beauty, is generally a time of thought- 
fulness rather than mirth. I think the most de- 
lightful poetry I know upon the subject of this 
season, is contained in the works of Tieck, a German 
poet, with whom you are perhaps acquainted; but 
the feelings he expresses are of a very different 
character from those I have described to you, seem- 
ing all to proceed from an overflowing sense of life 
and joy." 

This indefinable feeling of languor and depres- 
sion produced by the influence of spring, will be 
well understood by many a gentle heart. Never do 
the 

" Fond strange yearnings from the soul's deep cell; 
Gush for the faces we no more shall see," 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANg. 67 

with sucli uncontrollable power, as when all exter- 
nal nature breathes of life and gladness. Amidst 
all the bright and joyous things around us, we are 
haunted with images of death and the grave. The 
force of contrast, not less strong than that of analogy, 
is unceasingly reminding us of the great gulph that 
divides us from those who are now " gone down in 
silence." Some unforgotten voice is ever whisper- 
ing — " And I too in Arcadia." We remember how 
we were wont to rejoice in the soft air and pleasant 
sunshine ; and these things can charm us no longer, 
"because they are not." The farewell sadness of 
autumn, on the contrary — its falling leaves, and 
universal imagery of decay, by bringing more home 
to us the sense of our own mortality, identifies us 
more closely with those who are gone before, and 
the veil of separation becomes, as it were, more 
transparent. We are impressed with a more per- 
vading conviction that "we shall go to them;" 
while in spring, every thing seems mournfully to 
echo, " they will not return to us ! " 

These peculiar associations may be traced in many 
of Mrs Hemans's writings, deepening with the in- 
fluence of years and of sorrows, and more particularly 
developed in the poem called Breathings of Spring. 
And when it is remembered that it was at this season 
her own earthly course was finished, the following 
passage from a letter, written in the month of May, 
some years after the one last quoted, cannot be read 
without emotion. « Poor A. H. is to be buried to- 



68 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

morrow. With the bright sunshine laughing around, 
it seems more sad to think of ; yet if I could choose 
when I would wish to die, it should be in spring — 
the influence of that season is so strangely depress- 
ing to my heart and frame." 

It was in 1823 that Mrs Hemans began to be a 
contributor to the New Monthly Magazine, then 
edited by Mr Campbell ; and in the summer of the 
same year, the volume containing The Siege of Va- 
lencia was published by Mr Murray. Through 
some mistake of the printers, an untoward anomaly 
occurred in the arrangement of the contents of this 
volume — The Last Constantine taking precedence 
of the poem which so far exceeded it in importance 
and interest, and from which the work derived its 
name. Belshazzar's Feast, which appeared in the 
same volume, had previously been published in the 
Collection of Poems from Living Authors, edited 
for a benevolent purpose by Mrs Joanna Baillie.* 

* This work was thus referred to in one of Mrs Hemans's 
letters : — Have you seen a collection of poems by living 
authors, edited by Mrs Joanna Baillie, for the benefit of a 
friend ? She was kind enough to send me a copy, as I was 
one of her contributors : I mention it to you, principally to 
call your attention, should you meet with the book, to a very 
fine translation, by Sotheby, of Schiller's magnificent Lied von 
der Glocke, — a piece so very difficult to translate with effect, 
that I should have hardly thought it possible to give it so much 
spirit and grace in another language. I never, until very 
lately, met with a tragedy of Mrs Baillie's, which is, I believe, 
less generally known than her ofher works — The Family Le- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 69 

After innumerable delays, uncertainties, and anxie- 
ties, the fate of the tragedy, so long in abeyance, 
was now drawing to a crisis. Every thing con- 
nected with its approaching representation was cal- 
culated to raise the highest hopes of success. " All 
is going on," writes Mrs Hemans on the 27th No- 
vember, " as well as I could possibly desire. Only 
a short time will yet elapse before the ordeal is over. 
I received a message yesterday from Mr Kemble, 
informing me of the unanimous opinion of the green 
room conclave in favour of the piece, and exhorting 
me to < be of good courage.' Murray has given 
me two hundred guineas for the copyright of the 
* tragedy, drama, poem, composition, or book,' as 
it is called in the articles which I signed yesterday. 
The managers made exceptions to the name of Pro- 
cida, why or wherefore I know not; and out of 
several others which I proposed to them, The Ves- 
pers of Palermo has been finally chosen." 

gend. I was much pleased with it, particularly with her delinea- 
tion of the heroine. Indeed, nothing in all her writings delights 
me so much as her general idea of what is beautiful in the 
female character. There is so much gentle fortitude, and 
deep self-devoting affection in the women whom she portrays, 
and they are so perfectly different from the pretty " unidea'd 
girls," who seem to form the beau ideal of our whole sex in 
the works of some modern poets. Have you seen the lately 
published memoirs of Lady Griseld Baillie ? She was an an- 
cestress, I believe, of Joanna's, and her delightful character 
seems to have been the model her descendant has copied in 
some of her dramas." 



70 MEMOIR OF MRS HEM AX S. 

Under these apparently favourable auspices, the 
piece was produced at Co vent Garden on the night 
of December 1 2, 1823, the principal characters being 
taken by Mr Young, Mr C. Kemble, Mr Yates, Mrs 
Bartley, and Miss F. H. Kelly. Two days had to 
elapse before the news of its reception could reach 
St Asaph. Not only Mrs Hemans's own family, but 
all her more immediate friends and neighbours were 
wrought up to a pitch of intense expectation. Va- 
rious newspapers were ordered expressly for the oc- 
casion ; and the post-office was besieged at twelve 
o'clock at night, by some of the more zealous of her 
friends, eager to be the first heralds of the triumph 
so undoubtingly anticipated. The boys had worked 
themselves up into an uncontrollable state of excite- 
ment, and were all lying awake " to hear about 
mamma's play ;" and perhaps her bitterest moment 
of mortification was, when she went up to their bed- 
sides, which she nerved herself to do almost imme- 
diately, to announce that all their bright visions were 
dashed to the ground, and that the performance had 
ended in all but a failure. The reports in the news- 
papers were strangely contradictory, and, in some 
instances, exceedingly illiberal ; but all which were 
written in any thing like an unbiassed tone, con- 
curred entirely with the private accounts, not merely 
of partial friends, but of perfectly unprejudiced ob- 
servers, in attributing this most unexpected result 
to the inefficiency of the actress who personated 
Constance, and who absolutely seemed to be under 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 71 

the influence of some infatuating spell, calling down 
hisses, and even laughter, on scenes the most pa- 
thetic and affecting, and, to crown all, dying gra- 
tuitously at the close of the piece. The acting of 
Young and Kemble in the two Procidi, was univer- 
sally pronounced to have been beyond all praise ; 
and their sustained exertions showed a determina- 
tion to do all possible justice to the author. It was 
admitted, that at the fall of the curtain, applause 
decidedly predominated : still the marks of disappro- 
bation were too strong to be disregarded by the 
managers, who immediately decided upon withdraw- 
ing the piece, till another actress should have fitted 
herself to undertake the part of Constance, when 
they fully resolved to reproduce it. Mrs Hemans 
herself was very far from wishing that this fresh 
experiment should be made. " Mr Kemble," writes 
she to a friend, " will not hear of The Vespers being 
driven off the stage. It is to be reproduced as soon 
as Miss Foote, who is now unwell, shall be sufficiently 
recovered to learn her part ; but I cannot tell you 
how I shrink, after the fiery ordeal through which I 
have passed, from such another trial. Mr Kemble 
attributes the failure, without the slightest hesita- 
tion, to what he delicately calls " a singularity of 
intonation in one of the actresses." I have also heard 
from Mr Milman, Mr J. S. Coleridge, and several 
others, with whom there is but one opinion as to the 
cause of the disaster." 

Few would, perhaps, have borne so unexpected a 



72 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

reverse with feelings so completely untinged with 
bitterness, or with greater readiness to turn for con- 
solation to the kindness and sympathy which poured 
in upon her from every side. It would he doing her 
injustice to withhold her letter to Mr Milman, 
written in the first moments of disappointment. 

"Bronwylfa, Dec. 16, 1823. 
" My dear Sir, 

" It is difficult to part with the hopes of three 
years, without some painful feelings ; but your kind 
letter has been of more service to me than I can 
attempt to describe. I will not say that it revives 
my hopes of success, because I think it better that 
I should file my mind to prevent those hopes from 
gaining any ascendancy; but it sets in so clear a 
light the causes of failure, that my disappointment 
has been greatly softened by its perusal. The many 
friends from whom I have heard on this occasion, 
express but one opinion. As to Miss Kelly's acting, 
and its fatal effect on the fortunes of the piece, I 
cannot help thinking that it will be impossible to 
counteract the unfavourable impression which this 
must have produced, and I almost wish, as far as re- 
lates to my own private feelings, that the attempt 
may not be made. I shall not, however, interfere 
in any way on the subject. I have not heard from Mr 
Kemble ; but I have written both to him and to Mr 
Young, to express my grateful sense of their splen- 
did exertions in support of the piece. As a female, 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 73 

I cannot help feeling rather depressed by the ex- 
treme severity with which I have been treated in the 
morning papers. I know not why this should be ; 
for I am sure I should not have attached the slightest 
value to their praise ; but I suppose it is only a pro- 
per chastisement for my temerity ; for a female who 
shrinks from such things, has certainly no business 
to write tragedies. 

" For your support and assistance, as well as that 
of my other friends, I cannot be too grateful ; nor 
can I ever consider any transaction of my life un- 
fortunate, which has given me the privilege of call- 
ing you a friend, and afforded me the recollection 
of so much long-tried kindness. — Ever believe me, 
my dear sir, most faithfully, your obliged 

F. Hemans." 

Notwithstanding the determination of the mana- 
gers again to bring forward The Vespers, a sort of 
fatality seemed to attend upon it, and some fresh 
obstacle was continually arising to prevent the luck- 
less Constance from obtaining an efficient represen- 
tative on the London stage. Under these circum- 
stances, Mr Kemble at length confessed that he could 
not recommend the reproduction of the piece ; and 
Mrs Hemans acquiesced in the decision, with feelings 
which partook rather of relief than of disappoint- 
ment. She never ceased to speak in the warmest 
terms of Mr Kemble's liberal and gentlemanly con- 



74 MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS. 

duct, both before and after the appearance of the 
piece, and of his surpassing exertions at the time of 
its representation. 

It was with no small degree of surprise, that, in 
the course of the following February, she learned, 
through the medium of a letter from Mrs Joanna 
Baillie,* that the tragedy was shortly to be repre- 
sented at the Edinburgh Theatre — Mrs Henry 
Siddons undertaking the part of Constance. The 
play was brought out on the 5th of April, and the 
following particulars of its reception, transmitted 

* Though Mrs Hemans had never the advantage of being 
personally known to this gifted and excellent lady, the occa- 
sional interchange of letters, which, from this time forward, 
was kept up between them, was regarded as one of the most 
valuable privileges she possessed. It was always delightful to 
her when she could love the character, as well as admire the 
talents, of a celebrated author ; and never, surely, was there 
an example better fitted to call forth the willing tribute of 
veneration, both towards the woman and the poetess. In one 
of her letters to Mrs Baillie, Mrs Hemans thus apologized for 
indulging in a strain of egotism, which the nature of their ac- 
quaintance might scarcely seem to justify " The kindly warmth 

of heart which seems to breathe over all your writings, and 
the power of early association over my mind, make me feel, 
whenever I address you, as if I were writing to a friend." 

It would have been very dear to her could she have foreseen 
how graciously that " kindly warmth of heart" would be ex- 
tended to those of her children, who are more fortunate than 
herself, in enjoying the personal intercourse she would have 
prized so highly. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 75 

by one of the zealous friends who had been instru- 
mental in this arrangement, will prove how well their 
kindly intentions were fulfilled : — 

" The tragedy went off in a style which exceeded 
our most sanguine expectations, and was announced 
for repetition on Wednesday, amidst thunders of 
applause. The actors seem to have done wonders, 
and every one appeared to strain every nerve, as if 
all depended on his own exertions. Vandenhoff was 
the elder, and Calcraft the younger Procida, The 
first recognition between father and son, was acted 
by them to such perfection, that one of the most 
hearty and unanimous plaudits followed that ever 

was heard. 

* * * * * 

" Every reappearance of the gentle Constance 
won the spectators more and more. The scene in 
the judgment hall carried off the audience into per- 
fect illusion, and handkerchiefs were out in every 
quarter, Mrs Siddons's. searching the faces of the 
judges, which she did in a wild manner, as if to "find 
how Raimond's father was to save him, was perfect. 
She flew round the circle — went, as if distracted, 
close up to judge after judge — paused before Procida, 
and fell prostrate at his feet. The effect was magi- 
cal, and was manifested by three repeated bursts of 
applause." 

A neatly turned and witty epilogue, surmised, 
though not declared, to be the production of Sir 
Walter Scott, was recited by Mrs H. Siddons. 



76 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

When deference to & female was there laid claim to, 
loud bursts of applause ensued ; but, when genero- 
sity to a stranger was bespoken, the house absolutely 
rang with huzzas. 

" I knew how much you would rejoice," wrote Mrs 
Hemans to a warm-hearted friend, " in the issue of 
my Edinburgh trial ; it has, indeed, been most gra- 
tifying, and I think, amongst the pleasant est of its 
results, I may reckon a letter from Sir Walter Scott, 
of which it has put me in possession. I had written 
to thank him for the kindness he had shown with 
regard to the play, and hardly expected an answer ; 
but it came, and you would be delighted with its 
frank and unaffected kindliness. He acknowledges 
the epilogue, " stuffed," as he says it was, " with 
parish jokes, and bad puns ;" and courteously says, 
that his country folks have done more credit to them- 
selves than to me, by their reception of The Vespers* 

To another uncompromising champion she wrote : 
— " I must beg you will 6 bear our faculties meekly :' 
you really seem to be rather in an intoxicated state ; 
and if we indulge ourselves in this way, I am afraid 
we shall have something violent to sober us. I dare 
say I must expect some sharp criticism from Edin- 
burgh ere all this is over ; but any thing which 
deserves the name of criticism I can bear. I believe 
I could point out more faults in The Vespers my- 
self than any one has done yet." 

And then, with that endearing predominance of 
the mother over the author, which formed one of 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 77 

the loveliest features of her character, she would 
turn to some nursery topic in strains such as these : 
— " I am just returned from a game with one of the 
English shuttlecocks (which are pronounced to be 
much the best flyers), in which I have so distin- 
guished myself by my strenuous exertions, that I feel 
in some danger of writing one of the three hands 
on which I have heard a distinguished lawyer piques 
himself — I mean the one which neither he himself 
nor any one else can read. ' Tant les forces de ma 
puissant e vie' (as Mademoiselle de Stael says of 
Corinne) ' sont epicisees.'" 

And a letter of " high discourse" on the writings 
of Dr Channing, merges in the domestic mood, as 
follows : — " Now, lest you should forget your i Aunt 
Becky's* character, I have two important commis- 
sions to keep you in heart and in practice. We are 
in the greatest want of two humming-tops ! One is 
to be rather a large one, but plain, and as little ex- 
pensive as may be ; the other of small dimensions, 
even such as will hum upon a table. Sundry teeth 
have been drawn in the household, and the tops have 
been promised to reward the fortitude evinced on 
these trying occasions." 

* See The Inheritance, by Miss Ferrier. This pet name had 
been bestowed upon the indefatigable friend who was, for 
eighteen years, the purveyor of all things needful, from Italian 
classics to humming-tops ; and, like the Countess of Pembroke 
and Montgomery, a reference and authority in everything, from 
'* predestination down to slea-silk." 



78 MEMOIR OF MUS HEMANS- 

She delighted, too, in relating little anecdotes of 
her children, when writing to the partial friends by 
whom such " trivial fond records" were most likely 
to be prized. " I must tell you," she writes, " a re- 
mark of my little George's the other day, not only 
as I was much pleased with its discrimination, but as 
a proof of the attention and interest with which he 
has read our dear Swiss history.* He was reading 
to me an account of the proceedings of the precious 
triumvirate, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavius ; when, 
suddenly pausing, he exclaimed, after a moment's 
thought — " Oh, mamma ! what a contrast to the 
meeting of the three Swiss patriots on the field of 
Grutli I" 

Another of these " Oh, ma mm as," was somewhat 
more piquant in its character. " I wish you would 
make the Bishop laugh with a saying of George's, 
which entertained me a good deal — " Oh, mamma ! 
I'm in the most delightful place in my Virgil now — 
I'm in Tartarus !" 

* A History of Switzerland, for young persons, published by 
Darton and Harvey. This very interesting volume was written 
by Mrs Hemans's accomplished friend, the dear " Aunt Becky" 
of the note above ; and she took an interest in its progress, 
and a pleasure in its success, which could scarcely have been 
exceeded had the work been her own. A little volume of 
Devotions for Youth, written by the same friend, and published 
by Rivingtons two or three years afterwards, was one she prized 
yet more highly, and frequently used with her children. " On 
Christmas morning,'' she wrote, when they had been lent to her 
in MS., " I read your prayer for that day with my boys, and 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 79 

She had always taken great interest in the des- 
cription of the Christmas domestic festivals in Ger- 
many — the " Christmas Tree/' the mutual presents 
between parents and children, and all the innocent 
mysteries and pretty surprises which travellers have 
described so often, but none with so much truth and 
nature as Coleridge in his letter from Ratzeburgh, 
published in The Friend. Amongst her own little 
group, something of a similar celebration was always 
attempted. However wearied or harassed she might 
be, the claims of this joyous season were never re- 
mitted. The fate of poetic heroes and heroines 
would remain in abeyance, whilst juvenile mimes 
and mysteries were going on at the fireside ; and for 
the moment nothing seemed so important as the in- 
vention of different devices for the painted bags of 
bonbons destined to adorn the boughs of the " Christ- 
mas Tree." Even in the midst of all her dramatic 
vexations, she could write completely con amove — 
" The boys were very happy yesterday evening with 

I cannot tell you the pleasure I have in associating a thought 
of you with the feelings excited in such moments. I was 
pleased to hear the boys say, * Mamma, that is the nicest 
prayer you ever read to us;' and could not help thinking that 
you, too, would like the approbation of such accomplished 
critics. In the lines which I suggested as a motto to the 
prayers, and which are from a birthday address to my little 
George, the idea of the cares of earth lying dim on the spirit's 
wings, was meant to imply the gradual fading of youthful fancy 
and imagination in the world's atmosphere, just as the feathers 
of a bird of Paradise might be soiled with a mist or shower. " 



80 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

a plain twelfth cake of their own, when, just as it 
had been despatched, and the little ones were gone 
to bed, there arrived a much more splendid one from 
the Bishop, so we are to have a thirteenth night 
this evening. Charlie lays claim to what he calls 
the l Coronation,' from the top of the above-named 
cake, as he says he ' always has the coronations 
from the top of the Bishop's cakes.' " 

About this time, Mrs Hemans was engaged in 
the composition of another tragedy, entitled De 
Chatillon, or, The Crusaders ; in which, with that 
deference to fair criticism which she was always 
ready to avow, and to act upon, she made it her 
purpose to attempt a more compressed style of writ- 
ing, avoiding that redundancy of poetic diction which 
had been censured as the prevailing fault of The 
Vespers, It may possibly be thought that in the 
composition in question she has fallen into the op- 
posite extreme of want of elaboration ; yet in its 
present state, it is, perhaps, scarcely amenable to 
criticism, for by some strange accident, the fair 
copy transcribed by herself was either destroyed or 
mislaid in some of her subsequent removals, and 
the piece was long considered as utterly lost. Nearly 
two years after her death, the original rough MS., 
with all its hieroglyphical blots and erasures, was 
discovered amongst a mass of forgotten papers : and 
it has been a task of no small difficulty to decypher 
it, and complete the copy now first given to the 
world. Allowances must, therefore, be made for 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 81 

the disadvantages under which it appears, thus de- 
prived of her own finishing touches, and with no 
means of ascertaining how far it may differ from the 
copy so unaccountably missing. 

In the autumn of 1824, she began the poem which, 
in point of finish and consecutiveness, if not in po- 
pularity, may be considered her principal work, and 
which she herself inclined to look upon as her best. 
" I am at present," she wrote to one always interested 
in her literary occupations, " engaged upon a poem 
of some length, the idea of which was suggested to 
me by some passages in your friend Mr Blanco 
White's delightful writings.* It relates to the 
sufferings of a Spanish Protestant, in the time of 
Philip the Second, and is supposed to be narrated 
by the sufferer himself, who escapes to America. I 
am very much interested in my subject, and hope to 
complete the poem in the course of the winter." 
The progress of this work was watched with great 
interest in her domestic circle, and its touching de- 
scriptions would often extract a tribute of tears 
from the fireside auditors. When completed, a 
family consultation was held as to its name. Various 
titles were proposed and rejected, till that of The 
Forest Sanctuary was suggested by her brother, 
and finally decided upon. Though finished early in 
1825, the poem was not published till the following 
year, when it was brought out in conjunction with 
the Lays of Many Lands, and a collection of mis- 
Letters from Spain by Don Leucadio Doblado. 
I. F 



82 MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS. 

cellaneous pieces, most of which, had previously ap- 
peared in the New Monthly Magazine, or in some 
o£ the various annuals, from whose editors Mrs 
Hemans was now receiving continual overtures. 
The number and urgency of these applications was 
already beginning to be half tormenting, half amus- 
ing, though nothing in comparison with the " Val- 
lonibrosa"-like showers of these "autumnal leaves" 
which used to come pouring down upon her in after 
years, when the annual fever had reached its height. 

It was interesting to observe the manner in which 
any new idea, accidentally suggested in the course 
of her reading, would take hold of her imagination, 
awakening, as with an electric touch, a whole train 
of associations and developements. Most truly, in 
her case, was exemplified Mr Wordsworth's obser- 
vation respecting poetic sensibility, in which he 
says, that " the more exquisite it is, the wider will 
be the range of a poet's perceptions, and the more 
will he be incited to observe objects, both as they 
exist in themselves, and as reacted upon by his own 
mind." * 

By her, objects were never seen simply "as they 
exist in themselves." Every thing brought its own 
appeals to thought and memory ; and every sight 
and sound in nature awakened some distinct echo 
in her heart. The very rustling of the trees spoke 
to her in tones full of meaning. It was one of her 

* See Preface to the First Volume of Wordsworth's Poeti- 
cal Works. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 83 

favourite fancies that each tree had its peculiar lan- 
guage, suited to its character for majesty, solemnity, 
or grace, and that she could distinguish with closed 
eyes the measured tones of the oak or elm, the fune- 
real sighs of the cypress, or the sensitive murmurs of 
the willow or poplar ! From some particular train of 
association, she took great delight in seeing the 
waving boughs of trees through a church window. 
All legends and superstitions regarding trees and 
flowers, were peculiarly dear to her. When al- 
luding to these, and similar fables, she would often 
quote the well-known lines from Schiller — 

" Wage du zu irren and zu traumen, 

Hohen sinn liegt oft in kind'schem spiel. " * 

One of her favourites amongst the many tradi- 
tions of this nature, was the Welsh legend regarding 
the trembling of the aspen,f which, with a kindred 
superstition relating to the spotted arum, will be 
found mentioned in the Woodwalk and Hymn, in 
Scenes and Hymns of Life. And in the two sonnets, 
entitled " Thoughts connected with Trees," which 
form part of the Records of the Spring of 1834, 
she has revealed to us yet more distinctly how much 

" Oh ! fear thou not to dream with waking eye : — 
There lies deep meaning oft in childish play." 

Theklas Song — Translated by Mrs Hemans. 
t A somewhat similar tradition appears to exist in Denmark, 
as shown by a poem of Ingemann's, of which a translation was 
given in the Foreign Quarterly Review for June, 1830. 



84 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" deep meaning" their " kindly whisperings" and 
" old sweet leaf sounds" brought home to her breast. 
The howling of the wind at night had a very 
peculiar effect upon her nerves — nothing in the least 
approaching to the sensation of fear, as few were 
more exempt from that class of alarms usually called 
nervous ; but working upon her imagination to a 
degree which was always succeeded by a reaction of 
fatigue and exhaustion. The solemn influences thus 
mysteriously exercised, are alluded to in many of her 
poems, particularly in The Song of Night* and in 
TJie Voice of the Wind.'f 

* " Among the many congenial ideas she found in the writ- 
ings of Richter, the following passage relating to Mght was 
singularly in unison with her own feelings : — ' The earth is 
every day overspread with the veil of Night, for the same rea- 
son as the cages of birds are darkened, that we may the more 
readily apprehend the higher harmonies of thought in the hush 
and quiet of darkness. Thoughts, which day turns into smoke 
and mist, stand about us in the night as lights and flames, even 
as the column which fluctuates above the crater of Vesuvius, in 
the day-time appears a pillar of cloud, but by night a pillar of 
fire.'" 

f »' Oh ! many a voice is thine, thou Wind ! full many a 
voice is thine, 
From every scene thy wing o'ersweeps, thou bear'st a sound 

and sign : 
A minstrel wild and strong thou art, with a mastery all thine 

own, 
And the spirit is thy harp, O Wind ! that gives the answering 
lone. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 85 

The sight and sound of the sea were always con- 
nected in her mind with melancholy associations ; 

with 

" Doubt, and something dark, 
Of the old Sea some reverential fear ; " * 

with images of storm and desolation, of shipwreck 
and sea-burial : the last, indeed, was so often pre- 
sent to her imagination, and has so frequently been 
introduced into her poetry, that any one inclined to 
superstitious presentiments might almost have been 
disposed to fancy it a fore -shadowing of some such 
dark fate in store either for herself or for some one 
dear to her. These associations, like those awakened 
by the wind, were perfectly distinct from any thing 
of personal timidity, and were the more indefinable, 
as she had never suffered any calamity at all con- 
nected with the sea : none of those she loved had 
been consigned to its reckless waters, nor had she 
ever seen it in all its terrors, for the coast on which 
her early years were passed is by no means a rug- 
ged or dangerous one, and is seldom visited by dis- 
aster. 



" Are all these notes in thee, wild Wind ! these many notes in 

ihee? 
Far in our own unfathom'd souls their fount must surely be ; 
Yes ! buried, but unsleeping there, thought watches, memory 

lies, 
From whose deep urn the tones are poured through all earth's 

harmonies." 

* Wordsworth. 



86 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

In one of her later sonnets* on this subject, a chord 
is struck, which may perhaps find an echo in other 

bosoms : — 

« Yet, O blue deep? 

Thou that no trace of human hearts dost keep, 

Never to thee did love with silvery chain 

Draw my soul's dream, which through all nature sought 

What waves deny, — some bower of steadfast bliss, 

A home to twine with fancy, feeling, thought, 

As with sweet flowers : — But chastened Hope for this, 

Now turns from earth's green valleys as from thee, 

To that sole changeless world, where there is no more sea." 

The same feeling is expressed in one of her letters : 
— " Did you ever observe how strangely sounds and 
images of waters — rushing torents, and troubled ocean 
waves, are mingled with the visionary distresses of 
dreams and delirium ? To me there is no more per- 
fect emblem of peace than that expressed by the 
Scriptural phrase, " there shall be no more sea." 

How forcible is the contrast between the essential 
womanliness of these associations, so full of " the still 
sad music of humanity," and the " stern delight" with 
which Lord Byron, in his magnificent apostrophe to 
the sea, exults in its ministry of wrath, and recounts, 
as with a fierce joy, its dealings with its victim, man ! 

" The vile strength he wields 

For earth's destruction, thou dost all despise, 
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray, 
And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies 

* " A Thought of the Sea." 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 87 

His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay !" 
Childe Harold, Canto iv. Stanza clxxx. 

In the spring of 1825, Mrs Hemans, with her 
mother and sister, and four of her boys (the eldest 
having been placed at school at Bangor), removed 
from Bronwylfa to Rhyllon, another house belong- 
ing to her brother, not more than a quarter of a 
mile from the former place, and in full view from 
its windows. The distance being so inconsiderable, 
this could, in fact, scarcely be considered as a re- 
moval. The two houses, each situated on an emi- 
nence, on opposite sides of the river Clwyd, con- 
fronted each other so conveniently, that a telegraphic 
communication was established between them (by 
means of a regular set of signals and vocabulary, 
similar to those made use of in the navy), and was 
carried on for a season with no little spirit, greatly 
to the amusement of their respective inhabitants. 

Nothing could be less romantic than the outward 
appearance of Mrs Hemans's new residence — a tall, 
staring brick house, almost destitute of trees, and 
unadorned (far, indeed, from being thus " adorned 
the most") by the covering mantle of honeysuckle, 
jessamine, or any such charitable drapery.* Bron- 
wylfa, on the contrary, was a perfect bower of roses, 
and peeped out like a bird's nest from amidst the 

* Its conspicuousness has since been a good deal modified 
by the lowering of one story, and by the growth of the sur- 
rounding plantations. 



88 MEMOIR OF MRS HUMANS. 

foliage in which it was embosomed. The contrast 
between the two dwellings was thus playfully des- 
canted upon by Mrs Hemans, in her contribution to 
a set oijeux d' esprit, called the Brouwylfa Budget 
for 1825. 

DRAMATIC SCENE BETWEEN BRONWYLFA AND RHYLLOV.* 

Bronwylfa, after standing for sometime in silent contempla- 
tion o/Rhyxlon, breaks out into the following vehement strain of 
vituperation : — 

(i You ugliest of fabrics ! you horrible eye-sore ! 
I wish you would vanish, or put on a vizor ! 
In the face of the sun, without covering or rag on, 
You stand and out-stare me, like any red dragon. 
With your great green-eyed windows, in boldness a host, 
(The only green things which, indeed, you can boast). 
With your forehead as high, and as bare as the pate 
Which an eagle once took for a stone or a slate, f 
You lift yourself up, o'er the country afar, 
As who should say — " Look at me ! — here stands great R !" 
I plant — I rear forest trees — shrubs great and small, 
To wrap myself up in — you peer through them all ! 
With your lean scraggy neck o'er my poplars you rise ; 
You watch all my guests with your wide saucer eyes i — 

(7/i a paroxysm of rage) — 
You monster ! I would I could waken some morning 
And find you had taken French leave without warning ; 

* Bronwylfa is pronounced a3 if written Bronwilva; and 
perhaps the nearest English approach to the pronunciation of 
Rhyllon, would be, by supposing it to be spelt Ruthlon, the u 
sounded as in but. 

■f Bronwylfa is here supposed to allude to the pate of JEschy- 
lus, upon which an eagle dropped a tortoise to crack the shell. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 89 

You should never be sought like Aladdin's famed palace. — 
You spoil my sweet temper — you make me bear malice — 
For it is a hard fate, I will say it and sing, 
Which has fixed me to gaze on so frightful a thing." 

Rhyllon — (with dignified equanimity) — 
Content thee, Bronwylfa, what means all this rage ? 
This sudden attack on my quiet old age ? 
I am no parvenu — you and I, my good brother, 
Have stood here this century facing each other ; 
And / can remember the days that are gone, 
When your sides were no better arrayed than my own. 
Nay, the truth shall be told — since you flout me, restore 
The tall scarlet woodbine you took from my door ! 
Since my baldness is mocked, and I'm forced to explain, 
Pray give me my large laurustinus again. 

( With a tone of prophetic solemnity) — 
Bronwylfa ! Bronwylfa ! thus insolent grown, 
Your pride and your poplars alike must come down ! 
I look through the future (and far I can see, 
As St Asaph and Denbigh will answer for me), 
And in spite of thy scorn, and of all thou hast done, 
From my kind heart's brick bottom, I pity thee, Bron ! 
The end of thy toiling and planting will be, 
That thou wilt want sunshine, and ask it of me. 
Thou wilt say, when thou wak'st, looking out for the light, 
" I suppose it is morning, for Rhyllon looks bright." 
While I — my green eyes with their tears overflow. 

( Tenderly) — 
Come — let us be friends, as we were long ago." 

In spite, however, of the unromantic exterior of 
her new abode, the earlier part of Mrs Hemans's 
residence at Rhyllon, may, perhaps, be considered as 
the happiest of her life ; as far, at least, as the term 



90 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

happiness could ever be fitly applied to any period 
of it later than childhood. The house, with all its 
ugliness, was large and convenient ; the view from 
its windows beautiful and extensive, and its situation, 
on a fine green slope, terminating in a pretty wood- 
land dingle, peculiarly healthy and cheerful. Never, 
perhaps, had she more thorough enjoyment of her 
boys than in witnessing, and often joining in, their 
sports, in those pleasant breezy fields, where the kites 
soared so triumphantly, and the hoops trundled so 
merrily, and where the cowslips grew as cowslips had 
never grown before. An atmosphere of home soon 
gathered round the dwelling ; roses were planted, 
and honeysuckles trained, and the rustling of the 
solitary poplar near her window was taken to her 
heart, like the voice of a friend. The dingle became 
a favourite haunt, where she would pass many dream- 
like hours of enjoyment with her books, and her own 
sweet fancies, and her children playing around her. 
Every tree and flower, and tuft of moss that sprung 
amidst its green recesses, was invested with some 
individual charm by that rich imagination, so skilled 
in 

" Clothing the palpable and the familiar, 
With golden Exhalations of the dawn."* 

Here, on what the boys would call " mamma's 
sofa" — a littie grassy mound under her favourite 
beech-tree — she first read The Talisman, and has 

* Coleridge's Translation of Wallenstein* 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 91 

described the scene with a loving minuteness in her 
Hour of Romance, 

" There were thick leaves above me and around, 

And low sweet sighs, like those of childhood's sleep, 
Amidst their dimness, and a fitful sound 

As of soft showers on water. Dark and deep 
Lay the oak shadows o'er the turf — so still, 
They seem'd but pictured glooms ; a hidden rill 
Made music — such as haunts us in a dream — 
Under the fern-tufts ; and a tender gleam 
Of soft green light — as by the glow-worm shed — 
Came pouring through the woven beech-boughs down." 

Many years after, in the sonnet " To a Distant 
Scene," she addresses, with a fond yearning, this 
well-remembered haunt : — 

" Still are the cowslips from thy bosom springing, 
O far off grassy dell !'* 

How many precious memories has she hung round 
the thought of the cowslip, that flower, with its 
" gold coat" and " fairy favours," which is, of all 
others, so associated with the " voice of happy child- 
hood," and was, to her, ever redolent of the hours 
when her 

" Heart so leapt to that sweet laughter's tone !" 

Another favourite resort was the picturesque old 
bridge over the Clwyd, of which a vignette will be 
given in one of these volumes ; and when her health 
(which was subject to continual variation, but was 
at this time more robust than usual) admitted of more 
aspiring achievements, she delighted in roaming to 



92 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

the hills ; and the announcement of a walk to Cwm, * 
a remote little hamlet, nestled in a mountain hollow, 
amidst very lovely sylvan scenery, about two miles 
from Rhyllon, would be joyously echoed by her 
elated companions, to whom the recollection of these 
happy rambles must always be unspeakably dear. 
Very often, at the outset of these expeditions, the 
party would be reinforced by the addition of a cer- 
tain little Kitty Jones, a child from a neighbouring 
cottage, who had taken an especial fancy to Mrs 
Hemans, and was continually watching her move- 
ments. This little creature never saw her without 
at once attaching itself to her side, and confidingly 
placing its tiny hand in hers. So great was her 
love for children, and her repugnance to hurt the 
feelings of any living creature, that she never would 
shake off this singular appendage, but let little Kitty 
rejoice in her "pride of place," till the walk became 
too long for her capacity, and she would quietly fall 
behind of her own accord. 

Those who only know the neighbourhood of St 
Asaph, from travelling along its high-ways, can be 
little aware how much delightful scenery is attainable, 
within walks of two or three miles distance from Mrs 
Hemans's residence. The placid beauty of the Clwyd, 
and the wilder graces of its sister stream, the Elwy, 
particularly in the vicinity of " Our Lady's Well," 
and the interesting rocks and caves at Cefn, are 
little known to general tourists ; though, by the lovers 
* Pronounced Coom. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 93 

of her poetry, it will be remembered bow sweetly she 
lias apostrophised the 

" Fount of the chapel, with ages grey ;*' * 
and how tenderly, amidst far different scenes, her 
thoughts reverted to the 

" Cambrian river, with slow music gliding 
By pastoral hills, old woods, and ruined towers, "f 

Every day was now bringing some fresh proof of 
Mrs Hemans's widely extending fame, and more 
especially of the unprecedented favour with which 
her writings were regarded in America. Many tes- 
timonials had reached her from various quarters, of 
the high estimation in which she was held on the 
other side of the Atlantic; and she had already 
been engaged in a pleasant interchange of corres- 
pondence with Dr Bancroft, the talented author of 
The History of the United States, who was amongst 
the first to distinguish her works amongst his coun- 
trymen, by public criticism, or rather eulogy. But, 
in the autumn of this year (1825), a still more direct 
communication was opened for her with a country 
to which she was thenceforward to be bound by so 
many ties of grateful and kindly feeling. This de- 
lightful intercourse owed its beginning to the arrival 
— unexpected, as though it had fallen from the clouds 
— of a packet from Boston, containing a letter of 
self-introduction from Professor Norton of Cam- 

* Our Lady's Well. 

i Sonnet vi To the River Clwyd in North Wales." 



94 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

bridge University, New England, informing her that 
a complete edition of her works was wished for at 
Boston, and most liberally offering to superintend its 
publication, and secure the profits for her benefit. 
This packet, which also included some interesting 
specimens of American literature, after crossing the 
Atlantic in safety, had a narrow escape of being 
consigned to the " treasures of the deep," by a dis- 
aster which occurred to the party who had the charge 
of it, in traversing the Ulverstone Sands. But it 
would seem as if a missive so fraught with genuine 
kindness — such as could proceed only from the 
best and highest feelings of our nature — bore with- 
in itself a spell to resist all " moving accidents by 
flood and field." By the courtesy of a stranger, it 
was singled out from a motley pile of other fot- 
some and jetsome found drying at the kitchen fire 
of a little inn on the coast of Lancashire, and care- 
fully forwarded to the destination where it was to 
impart so much gratification, and lead to such valu- 
able results. Mrs Hemans took infinite pleasure in 
recounting the singular adventures of this memo- 
rable packet ; and the " sea change" which all its 
contents had suffered, more particularly a hand- 
somely bound volume, The Life of Mr Charles 
Eliot, written by the Professor himself — made them 
only the more precious in her eyes. From this time 
forward, the arrival of such welcome tributes be- 
came of continual occurrence, and she was supplied 
with all that was most interesting in transatlantic 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 95 

literature? either through the munificence of Mr 
Norton, or the kindness of the respective authors, 
with some of whom she was thus brought into 
direct communication. In this manner she made 
acquaintance with the noble writings of Dr Chan- 
ning, and entered into a correspondence with that 
distinguished author, for whose lofty eloquence and 
fervent inculcations of truth and morality, she en- 
tertained the highest respect, though the religious 
convictions in which she differed from him so widely, 
were absolutely a part of her being, and, if possible, 
gained strength with every year of her life. In her 
letters of this period, there is perpetual allusion to 
the enjoyment spread throughout the household by 
every fresh arrival from Boston. The unfolding of 
the various treasures was a treat to old and young ; 
and the peculiar odour of the pine wood which the 
books used to imbibe from the cases on their voy- 
age, was greeted as " the American smell," almost 
as joyfully as the aromatic breezes of the New 
World were first inhaled by Columbus and his compa- 
nions. On one occasion, Mrs Hemans was somewhat 
ludicrously disenchanted, through the medium of a 
North American Review, on the subject of a self- 
constituted hero, whose history (which suggested 
her little poem, The Child of the Forests) she had 
read with unquestioning faith and lively interest. 
This was the redoubtable John Dunn Hunter, whose 
marvellous adventures amongst the Indians — by 
whom he represented himself to have been carried 



96 MEilOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

away in childhood — were worked up into a plausible 
narrative, admirably calculated to excite the sym- 
pathies o£ its readers. But how far it was really 
deserving of them, may be judged by the following 
extract from a letter to a friend who had been simi- 
larly mystified: — " I send you a North American 
Review, which will mortify C. and you with the sad 
intelligence that John Hunter — even our own John 
Dunn — the man of the panther's skin — the adopted 
of the Kansas — the shooter with the rifle — no, with 
the long bow — is, I blush to say it, neither more nor 
less than an impostor ; no better than Psalmanazar ; 
no, no better than Carraboo herself. After this, 
what are we to believe again ? Are there any Loo 
Choo Islands ? Was there ever any Robinson Cru- 
soe ? Is there any Rammohun Roy ? All one's 
faith and trust is shaken to its foundations. No one 
here sympathises with me properly on this annoying 
occasion ; but you, I think, will know how to feel, 
who have been quite as much devoted to that vile 
John Dunn as myself." 

Thus pleasantly passed the first year of Mrs He- 
mans's residence at Rhyllon ; enlivened by so many 
tokens of good will from afar, and blessed by health, 
sustaining love, and social enjoyment at home, where 
the family circle had lately been increased by the 
welcome return of her second brother* and his wife, 
after an absence of several years in Canada. In this 
kindly atmosphere of household affection, she cou- 

* Now 3Iajor Browne, Commissioner of Police in Dublin. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 97 

rageously persevered in her daily routine of duties, 
accomplishing them with a facility astonishing even 
to those who best knew her powers ; and after long 
mornings of application, — hours spent first of all in 
the instruction of her children, then in answering 
countless letters, and satisfying the pressing claims 
of impatient editors, — she would shake off the bur- 
then of care, " like dew-drops from a lion's mane," 
and emerge into the fresh air with all the glad buoy- 
ancy of a school-boy released from his tasks, and 
with that pure, child-like enjoyment of the world 
out of doors, which made 

" The common air, the earth, the skies, 
To her an opening Paradise." 

"Soft winds and bright blue skies" (to quote from 
one of her own letters) " make me, or dispose me to 
be, a sad idler ; and it is only by an effort, and a 
strong feeling of necessity, that I can fix my mind 
steadily to any sedentary pursuit when the sun is 
shining over the mountains, and the birds singing 
* at heaven's gate ; 5 but I find frost and snow most 
salutary monitors, and always make exertion my 
enjoyment during their continuance. For this rea- 
son I must say I delight in the utmost rigour of 
winter, which almost seems to render it necessary 
that the mind should become fully acquainted with 
its own resources, and find means, in drawing them 
forth, to cheer 'with mental light the melancholv 
day."' 

I. G 



98 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

The tranquil cheerfulness of this period of Mrs 
Hemans's life, was destined to be but too soon over- 
shadowed by the sorrow and sickness of some of the 
dearest objects of her affections. The spring of 
1826 was clouded by severe affliction in the house of 
her eldest brother, whose once joyous hearth was 
now left lonely and deserted ; and this visitation was 
speedily followed by an alarming change in the 
health of that admirable mother, whose unwearied 
spirit of active, self-forgetting, hopeful exertion, had 
ever been the mainspring of happiness to all around 
her. So accustomed were her children to her all- 
pervading superintendence — so indispensable seemed 
her patient counsels, her ready sympathy, her un- 
failing love, that the idea of her ever being taken 
away from them, seemed a thing impossible to con- 
template : they would have thought the world (their 
own little world at least) could not go on without ■ 
her. And when, after the fluctuating symptoms of a 
tedious illness of eight months, and all those melan- 
choly gradations which mark from day to day the 
increasing weakness of the sufferer — whose dear com- 
panionship is first missed from the daily walk, then 
from the household meal and the family prayer, and 
lastly, to be found only in the chamber of sickness it- 
self — when after a sorrowful familiarity with all these 
indications of failing strength, the rapid increase of 
her danger could no longer be hid from their eyes — 
there was still, even to the very end, an obstinacy of 
hope within their hearts. Her own extraordinary 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 99 

mental energy and unsubdued cheerfulness — for her 
death, like her life, was an exemplification of the 
beautiful maxim, that 

" True piety is cheerful as the day" — 
were, indeed, almost sufficient to excuse this fond 
delusion. Her warm-hearted interest in all that 
was passing around her, was never extinguished by 
weariness or suffering ; and that pure flame of ma- 
ternal pride which burnt steadiest to the last, was 
brightened within a very few days of her death, by 
the arrival of a treasure-store of fresh tributes from 
the "far West" — tributes, not merely of homage to 
the genius of the poet, but of veneration for the high 
moral purposes to which that genius was directed. 
Such records were fitted to excite feelings far too 
deep for vanity in her to whom they were addressed, 
and were meet offerings to be laid on the dying bed 
of the mother, from whom had been imbibed her 
love for " whatsoever things are true, whatsoever 
things are holy," and whose fading eyes lighted up 
with exulting fondness at these proofs of distant fame, 
which seemed to her, as she emphatically declared.* 
" like a bright star in the West/ 



» * 



One of the last things on which she looked, was a little 
view of " Bronwylfa, the residence of Mrs Hemans," which 
had been lithographed in America ; and the last poem she 
listened to was the "Domestic Scene," afterwards published 
with the Hymns for Childhood. In alluding to these lines 
some months afterwards, Mrs Hemans wrote — " I read them 
to her by her bedside, about three weeks before I was deprived 



100 . MEMOIR OF MRS HEMA.NS. 

At length the solemn moment came, when those 
kind eyes were sealed for ever. With what feelings 
tliis stroke had been anticipated, may be seen in the 
" Hymn by a bed of sickness," written almost at the 
last ; how deeply it was felt, yet how meekly borne, 
is best shown in Mrs. Hemans's own words, taken 
from a letter — one of the first she wrote after her 
bereavement, to an old and much valued friend. 

" I cannot suffer you to remain in anxiety about 
me, which I know is painful. My soul is indeed 
' exceeding sorrowful,' dear friend ; but, thank God ! 
I can tell you that composure is returning to me, 
and that I am enabled to resume those duties which 
so imperiously call me back to life. What I have 
lost, none better knows than yourself. I have lost 
the faithful, watchful, patient love, which for years 
had been devoted to me and mine ; and I feel that 
the void it has left behind, must cause me to bear 
1 a yearning heart within me to the grave ;' but I 
have her example before me, and I must not allow 
myself to sink. 

" You have, I know, been told of the wonderful 
collectedness she displayed to the last. Sickness 
and suffering, and sorrowful affection we have wit- 
nessed; but no despondence, no perplexity, nothing 
which can in any way connect horror with the 

« 
of her, and the tender pleasure with which she heard them, has 

rendered them to me a * thing set apart.' " And the holy scene 

they record (a picture from real life) was worthy of being 

enshrined in recollections so sacred. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 101 

awfulness of death. I was almost in a stupor for a 
*few days after, but it is past, and I do not think my 
health will suffer, though I now feel wearied and 
worn, and longing, as she did, for rest. That rest 
was almost, indeed, perfect in her last hours, so deep 
and still was the slumber into which she had sunk, 
and which our selfish hearts almost longed to hear 
broken even by the renewed sickness of the preceding 
night ; for the utter separation from us implied by 
such a state of solemn tranquillity, seemed almost 
' greater than we could bear.' Oh ! this earthly 
weakness, when we should praise God for one * de- 
parted this life in His faith and fear/ 

In a subsequent letter she thus alluded to her 
mother's room. " I have frequently entered it since 
its privation, and, indeed, am in the habit of going 
there when my heart is more than usually oppressed. 
It seems to me almost a place of refuge from care 
and fear, which too often weigh down my spirit 
heavily." 

This passage brings involuntarily to remembrance 
the beautiful lines of Young — 

" The chamber where the good man meets his fate, 
Is privileged beyond the common walk 
Of virtuous life; — quite in the verge of Heaven." 

The following letter, addressed to the same friend 
(then suffering from sorrows of her own), though 
not written till some months later, belongs so com- 
pletely to the same train of feeling, as to claim an 
introduction in this place. 



102 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" I have been haunted, since the arrival of your last 
sad letter, by an anxiety to write to you, which it has, 
not, until to-day, been in my power to fulfil. The 
intelligence startled us most painfully ; I almost felt 
as if I had known the amiable and beloved friend 
who is lost to you ; and words are inadequate to ex- 
press what one feels for her sister, who had so much 
interested us. So sudden a shock, too ! — and yet 
they talk of preparation ; — alas ! we are ever unpre- 
pared for the stroke which deprives us of those we 
love ; it is impossible to believe it at hand ; I sup- 
pose from the impossibility of conceiving that we 
can and must live without them. I think first, na- 
turally, of her who is most bereaved; but I well 
know what you too must have felt upon this break- 
ing of a tie of many years ; and wish I were near 
you to give you such comfort as I could. I have 
received a letter of consolation from Mr Norton, 
on my own affliction, from which I must copy you 
a part. If any human comfort could avail, it would 
surely be a view so pure and elevating as this. I 
think, when the poor mourner may be supposed to 
have regained a little calmness, I shall write and 
send it to her. ' When one so dear is taken away, 
an object of constant reference, respect, and affec- 
tion, a principal part of all our enjoyments, a sup- 
port in all affliction, one in whom we had lived, one 
through whom the Spirit of God had powerfully 
operated to produce all that is good within us ; the 
whole aspect of things is changed, and the world 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 103 

becomes a different place from what it was before. 
It must ever remain so. But in time perhaps it may 
become even a better and a brighter spot. The 
thick veil which separates it from the World of Life 
and Light, has been broken through for us by the 
friend who is gone before ; and beams of glory 
may find their way where it has been rent. Between 
us and that world, a new and most affecting connec- 
tion has been formed ; for one whom we most loved 
is there. A deep feeling of the reality and certainty 
of all which in truth is real and certain, thus becomes 
permanent in our minds, blending itself with all our 
best affections. Blessed beyond all our conceptions 
of happiness are the Dead who die in the Lord. 
They have rested from the labours which we still 
must bear. They have gone before us to prepare 
our place and our welcome, and are waiting to re- 
ceive us again, with more than human love. Amid 
the trials of life, he who feels his own weakness, 
must sometimes almost wish that he, too, were as 
secure.' 

" This is surely the language of real consolation ; 
how different from that which attempts to soothe us 
by general remarks on the common lot, the course 
of nature, or even by dwelling on the release of the 
departed from pain and trial. Alas ! I know by 
sad experience, that the very allusion to those pains 
and trials only adds tenfold to the inexpressible 
yearnings of the heart when all is over, when Love 
can do no more." 



104 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

There was one little trait which Mrs Hemans 
loved to dwell upon, as having afforded her a bright 
gleam of comfort in the darkest hour of her afflic- 
tion. On the evening of her mother's death,* after 
long watching in the solemn stillness of the sick- 
chamber, she went down for a while to solace her 
oppressed spirit with the looks and voices of her 
children. She found them all sitting hushed and 
awe-struck, round the fire. They looked at her sad 
face with sorrowful wonder, and her " little George" 
entreated to be allowed to read her a chapter in the 
Bible — " he was sure it would do her good." May 
he never lose the remembrance of that holy hour ! 
tenderly as it was recorded in the heart of his mo- 
ther, who thus saw fulfilled her birthday exhortation 
to him — 

** Yet ere the cares of life lie dim 
On thy young spirit's wings, 
Now in thy morn, forget not Him 

From whom each pure thought springs. 

" So, in the onward vale of tears, 
Where'er thy path may be, 
When strength hath bow'd to evil years, 
He will remember thee." 

It is affecting to remember how soon, with a heart 
so deeply wounded, she resumed the daily routine of 
her maternal duties, not indulging in the " luxury of 
grief," but returning to her appointed tasks with all 

* 11 th January, 1827- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAKS. 105 

her wonted perseverance. In a letter relating to some 
French books, which she wished to procure for one 
of her boys, she goes on to say, — " He has done with 
fables, the old Veillees du Chateau, &c, and I have 
not really the heart to venture upon Telemaque, 
which was always a particular aversion of mine. I 
think some parts of the Chateaux Suisses would 
cheer him on a little, if you could spare them for a 
time. I want to excite such an interest in the lan- 
guage, or rather to make him feel so much at home 
in it, that he may seek his amusement or infor- 
mation in it as readily as in English. It is well for 
me, and I ought to be thankful, that I have these 
objects of strong and permanent interest, to win me 
from thoughts too deeply tinged with sorrow. No 
less important duties could have called me back 
to exertion with a voice at once so sweet and so 
powerful." 

To say that the loss of her mother was an irre- 
parable one to Mrs Hemans, is saying little. From 
henceforth she was to be a stranger to any thing 
like an equal flow of quiet, steadfast happiness. 
Fugitive enjoyments — entrancing excitements — ad- 
ulation the most intoxicating — society the most bril- 
liant — all these, and more than these, were hers in 
after years ; but the old home feeling of shelter 
and security was gone for ever — " removed like a 
shepherd's tent " — and how many mournful allusions 
to this " aching void" were henceforth to be found 
in her poetry ; how many, still more affecting, were 



106 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

poured forth in her letters !* Her health, too, which 
for many years had been so delicate, and at all times 
required innumerable precautions, of which she was 
painfully regardless, now began to give token of 
alarming fragility. The inflammatory symptoms to 

* There is a very touching analogy between the effects of 
her mother's loss upon Mrs Hemans, and those produced by 
a similar cause upon another poetic nature, differing, indeed, 
from hers as darkness from light, in all else save this one pure 
feeling. The heart-piercing eloquence of the following letter 
(taken from an article on the Life and Writings of Werner, in 
the Foreign Quarterly Review for January 1838), must find an 
echo in so many bosoms, that any excuse for its introduction 
seems unnecessary. 

** Extract of a letter from Werner to his friend Hitzig : — - 
1 I know not whether thou hast heard that on the 24th of Feb- 
ruary, my mother departs- d htre in my arms. My friend ! God 
knocks with an iron hammer at our hearts ; and we are duller 
than stone if we do not feel it, and madder than mad if we think 
it shame to cast ourselves into the dust before the All-powerful, 
and let our whole so highly miserable self be annihilated in the 
sentiment of His infinite greatness and long suffering. 

" This death of my mother — the pure, royal, poet and 
martyr spirit, who, for eight years, had lain continually on a 
sick-bed, and suffered unspeakable things, affected me (much 
as for her sake I could not but wish it) with altogether ago- 
nizing feelings. Ah ! friend, how heavy do my youthful faults 
lie on me. How much would I give to have my mother back 
to me but one week, that I might disburthen my heavy-laden 
heart with tears of repentance. My beloved friend ! give thou 
no grief to thy parents ! Ah ! no earthly voice can wake the 



MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS. 107 

which she had always had a tendency, recurred with 
unwonted frequency, and she became liable to at- 
tacks of palpitation of the heart, and distressing pain 
at the chest. These would cause for a time com- 
plete and rapid prostration of strength ; and then, 
with that natural elasticity for which her constitu- 

dead. God and parents — that is the first concern — all else is 
secondary.' 

The Reviewer then goes on to observe — " This affection for 
his mother forms, as it were, a little island of light and ver- 
dure in Werner's history, where, amid so much that is dark 
and desolate, one feeis it pleasant to linger, 

* ***** 

" His poor mother, while alive, was the haven of all his 

earthly wanderings ; and in after years, from amid far scenes and 

crushing perplexities, he often looks back to her grave with a 

feeling to which all bosoms must respond. See, for example, 

the preface to his Mutter der Makkabcler, written at Vienna in 

1819. The tone of still but deep and heartfelt sadness, which 

runs through the whole of this piece, cannot be communicated 

in extracts. We quote only a half stdnza, which, except in 

prose, we shall not venture to translate. 

' Ich, deni der T.iebe Kosen, 
Und alle Frendenrosen, 
Beym ersten Schaufeltosen, 
Am Muttergrab entflohn.' 

* I, for whom the caresses of love, and all roses of joy withered 
away, as the first shovel with its mould sounded on the coffin 
of my mother.' 

" The date of her decease became a memorable era in his 
mind, as may appear from the title which he gave long after- 
wards to one of his most popular and tragical productions — Die 
vier-undzwanzigste Fehruar* 



108 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

tion was so remarkable, there would be an equally 
sudden reaction, and sbe would seem, for a season, 
to have shaken off all disquieting symptoms. This 
tremulous state of health was naturally accompanied 
by corresponding fluctuations of spirits ; and their 
fitful gaiety, through which an under current of 
sadness might always be traced, was almost more 
melancholy than their frequent depression, " My 
spirits" — thus she wrote of herself — " are as variable 
as the lights and shadows now flitting with the wind 
over the high grass, and sometimes the tears gush 
into my eyes when I can scarcely define the cause." 
And in another letter of the same period — " My 
health is quite renewed, and my spirits, though va- 
riable, are often all that they used to be. I am a 
strange being, I think. I put myself in mind of an 
Irish melody, sometimes, with its quick and wild tran- 
sitions from sadness to gaiety." This comparison 
was from her a very expressive one, as she had 
always a peculiar feeling for Irish music. " There 
breathes through it " (she once wrote, and would 
often say), " or perhaps I imagine all this — a min- 
gling of exultation and despondence, like funeral 
strains with revelry, a something unconquerable, 
yet mournful, which interests me deeply." Even yet 
more applicable to these " mental lights and shades" 
are the similes in that well-known passage from the 
works of Mrs Joanna Baillie, which she loved no 
less for its beauty, than from feeling how appropri- 
ately it might have been wfitten for herself. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. , 109 

" Didst thou ne'er see the swallow's veering breast, 
Winging the air beneath some murky cloud, 
In the sunn'd glimpses of a stormy day, 
Shiver in silver brightness ? 
Or boatman's oar as vivid lightning flash 
In the faint gleam, that like a spirit's path 
Tracks the still water of some sullen lake ? 
Or lonely tower, from its brown mass of woods, 
Give to the parting of a wintry sun 
One hasty glance, in mockery of the night, 
Closing in darkness round it ? Gentle friend ! 
Chide not her mirth who was sad yesterday, 
And may be so to-morrow." * 

A few original fragments found after Mrs He- 
mans's death in one of her MS. books, may here be 
given as belonging to this date. 



" Oh, that we could but fix upon one eternal and 
unchangeable Being, the affections which here we 
pour forth, a wasted treasure, upon the dust ! But 
they are ' of the earth, earthy;' they cling with 
vain devotedness to mortal idols ; how often to be 
thrown back upon our own hearts, and to press them 
down with a weight of ' voiceless thoughts/ and of 
feelings which find no answer in the world ! " 



" Oh, that the mind could throw from it the bur- 
then of the past for ever ! Why is it that voices and 
tones and looks, which have passed away 3 come over 

* From the Tragedy of Orra, 



110 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

us with a suddenness and intenseness of remembrance 
which make the heart die within us, and the eyes 
overflow with fruitless tears ? Who shall explain the 
mysteries of the world within ? * 



" ' As the hart panteth for the water-brooks,' or 
as the captive for the free air of Heaven, so does the 
ardent spirit for the mingling of thought with 
thought, — for the full and deep communion of kin- 
dred natures. The common, every-day intercourse 
of human beings — how poor it is — how heartless ! — 
how much more does it oppress the mind with a sense 
of loneliness, than the deepest solitude of majestic 
nature ! Can it indeed be, that this world has no- 
thing higher, nobler, more thrilling ? and the thou- 
sands of minds that seem to dwell contented within 
this narrow circle, do they dream of nothing beyond ? 
I often ask myself this question in what we call 
society, and what should be the answering thought ? 
< / thank thee that I am not as this man; 9 or, 
1 Surely this man is happier than I V Yet, when a 
sudden spark of congenial thought or feeling seems 
to be struck from the mind of another by our own, 
is not the joy so great as almost to compensate for 
hours and days of weariness ? Is it not like the swift 
breaking in of sunshine through the glades of a fo- 
rest, sending gladness to their very depths ? Yes ; — 
but t few and far between' are such moments ; widely 
severed the fresh fountains at which we drink strength 
and hope, to bear us on through the desert beyond." 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 1 1 1 

" How tlie name of love is profaned in this world ! 
Truly does Lord Byron call < circumstance ' an 
1 unspiritual God.' What strange coarse ties, — 
coarse but not strong, — one daily sees him forming ! 
— not of the " silver cords" of the heart, but of the 
homely housewifely worsted of interest — convenience 
— economical consideration. One wonders how they 
are to resist the wear and tear of life, or how those 
whom they link together are to be held side by side 
through sorrow, difficulty, disappointment, without 
the strong affection which < overcometh all things,' 
and ennobles all things — even the humblest offices 
performed in attendance at the sick-bed of one we 
love. What work, what sacrifice is there which a 
deep, true, powerful feeling cannot dignify ! " 



" Is not the propensity of ardent and affectionate 
natures to love and trust, though disappointed again 
and again, as a perpetual spring in the heart, ever 
throwing out fresh buds and flowers, though but to 
be nipped by the < killing frost ? ' — Far better thus, 
than to be bound in the lifelessness of winter." 



" What is fame to a heart yearning for affection, and 
finding it not ? Is it not as a triumphal crown to 
the brow of one parched with fever, and asking for 
one fresh healthful draught — the ' cup of cold water ? ' " 



" Is it real affliction — ill health — disappointment— 
or the ' craving void that aches within the breast ' 



112 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

for sympathies which perhaps earth does not afford 
— that weans us most from life ? — I think the latter. 
If we could only lie down to die as to sleep, how 
few would not willingly throw off what Wordsworth 
calls 

' The weight 



Of all this unintelligible world ! ' 
and i flee away, and be at rest. ' " 



" i The ancients feared death ; — we, thanks to 
Christianity, fear only dying; 9 so says the author 
of the Guesses at Truths and surely it is even so. 
I, that have seen a spirit pass away in sleep, in soft 
and solemn repose that almost melted into death, 
should scarcely fear even the latter ; and yet, the very 
stillness of such a parting is almost too awful for 
human nature to sustain. It seems as if there should 
he last words of love, and tears, and blessings, when 
the strong ties that bound soul to soul are broken; — 
but to call and not to be answered by the voice that 
ever before spoke kindness and comfort! — who can 
sound the deep gulf of separation that must be l set 
between,' when that moment arrives ? " 



" Our home ! — what images are brought before us 
by that one word ! The meeting of cordial smiles, 
and the gathering round the evening hearth, and the 
inter change of thoughts in kindly words, and the 
glance of eyes to which our hearts lie open as the 
day; — there is the true ' City of Refuge;' — where 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 113 

are we to turn when it is shut from us or changed ? 
Who ever thought his home could change? And 
yet those calm and deep, and still delights, over which 
the world seems to have no breath of power, they too 
are like the beautiful summer clouds, tranquil as if 
fixed to sleep for ever in the pure azure of the skies, 
yet all the while melting from us, though impercep- 
tibly ' passing away ! ' " 

****** 

Innumerable are the projects contained in these 
MS. volumes, where ideas were written down at the 
moment they occurred, to be worked out at future 
leisure. Sometimes the whole outline of a long poem 
is drawn out ; then follows a list of subjects for lyrics ; 
or some suddenly awakened association, or newly sug- 
gested simile is recorded in hasty and unstudied 
phrase. It may be interesting to give a few speci- 
mens of these memoranda. The following was the 
plan of " The Picture Gallery," designed to be a 
connected series of poems, of which the only one ever 
completed was that called " The Lady of the Castle." 

"A young bride leads her husband through the 
castle of her ancestors, an ancient chateau in Pro- 
vence or Languedoc. Her favourite haunt is the 
Picture Gallery, where she passes hours with him 
every day, relating to him the stories of the sons and 
daughters of her house. These tales are : — 

" That of the celebrated Countess of Tripoli, for 
whom a troubadour died of love. 

" Of the baughty Lady of Montemar, who will not 

t H 



114 MEMOIR OF MBS HEMANS. 

weep at the death of her son, but falls down dead 
upon his bier. 

" Of a youth of that house, who dies for his king, 
like Herbert de St Clair. He had been brought up 
with a young king as his friend and companion ; — 
they come down together on a visit to the father of the 
youth ; the castle is besieged by rebels, and the youth 
receives in his own heart an arrow aimed at that of 
his king. The king laments him bitterly, and visit- 
ing his tomb many years after, on his return from a 
great victory, weeps over it like a child. 
" Story of < The Lady of the Castle.' 
" Of two brothers, who are represented in the same 
picture. After living together in the greatest har- 
mony, they become attached to the same lady, who 
returns the affection of the younger. Their marriage- 
day is fixed, and she, after apparently languishing in 
sickness a few days previously, falls dead at the 
altar, not without suspicions of poison, which attach 
to the elder brother, who has disappeared, and is not 
heard of for years. The younger, in despair, retires 
to a Carthusian monastery, the regulations of which 
are most severe. Here, after several years' seclu- 
sion, he finds himself dying, and implores the abbot, 
if ever tbe brother on whom so dreadful a suspicion 
has fallen, should visit that abode, to assure him that 
he had died in charity with him. The abbot, moved 
with compassion, introduces his brother, who had 
been some time in the convent unknown to him. 
They are reconciled — the younger dies. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 1 15 

" Of a beautiful Saracen female, who comes to the 
castle as the bride of the eldest son, by whom she 
has been brought home from the East. Her being 
a Saracen, though converted, causes discord between 
the father and son ; and one day, during the absence 
of the latter, she throws herself at the old man's feet, 
with her infant daughter, and entreats him to dispose 
of her at his will, and send her back to her own land, 
so that she may no longer be the cause of dissension 
between him and his son. This softens his heart ; 
he takes her to his bosom — blesses her as his daugh- 
ter — is tended by her in his last illness, and expires in 
her arms. 

" Of a fair girl, who watches from the battlements 
the combat in which her brother is engaged. She 
sees him fall, and left deserted as the army are 
charging onward. She rushes down to his assist- 
ance, and is killed herself whilst binding up his 
wounds, 

" Of Constance, a daughter of the house, who being 
left motherless at an early age, devotes herself to the 
care of her infant sisters, and refuses to marry, though 
tenderly attached to a noble yputh, worthy of her af- 
fection. Her lover falls in a distant land, and after 
all her duties are fulfilled, she goes on a pilgrimage 
to his grave, returns, and closes her days in peace. 
She possesses a gift of sacred song, and the young 
bride, Azalais, concludes her tales with an evening 
hymn of Constance's. She then bids the portraits of 
her ancestors farewell, as the day is come on which 



116 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAXS. 

she is to leave the dwelling of her father for that of 
her husband." 



" Plan of a Poem to he called ' TJie Death-bed 
of St Louis. 9 

"Encampment of St Louis in Carthage under pros- 
perous auspices. The Orinamme. The plague, which 
is most dreadful when all nature is smiling, attacks 
his army. Death of warriors in a foreign land while 
the troubadours and minstrels are singing in their 
distant homes. The mysterious power of Africa in 
repelling all invaders — thousands buried beneath the 
sands. Marius — Scipio — Dido — Sophonisba — Wife 
of Asdrubal — Cato. Evocation of the gods of Car- 
thage. Those shores had still another and a nobler 
lesson to learn. Morning of the death of St Louis 
— stillness of the camp — warlike and triumphant 
sounds upon the sea during his last moments. Ad- 
dress to the Mediterranean. Disembarkation of 
Charles of Anjou. Bitter feelings occasioned by 
turning from the bed of death to the duties of active 
life. Mournfulness of the victory gained over the 
infidels, after the death of St Louis. Departure of 
the Crusaders." 



"Fountain superstitions. — Different marvellous 
properties anciently attributed to the waters of foun- 
tains. Those are lovely spots of earth where they 
rise, whether am on gst the laurel groves of Greece, or 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 117 

the citrons of Italy. It is no marvel if man, in 
darker ages, has bestowed a presiding genius on 
each of them." 



" A Norwegian Legend, — A traveller in Nor- 
way, standing amongst some Hunengraber (ancient 
northern tombs), and gigantic stone altars, is told 
the legend of the scene. That during a time of 
great public calamity, the Priests of Odin had de- 
clared it to be necessary for the king of the country 
to offer up the treasure he most valued. They had 
accordingly seized upon his son, a gallant boy of 
eight years old. He was about to be bound upon 
the stone of sacrifice, when his mother, a Scandina- 
vian princess, rushed in, declaring that she was the 
being whom the king loved best, and must therefore 
be sacrificed instead of her son. The King having 
darted forward to drag her away, she appealed to 
this as a proof, gave her son into his arms, and 
rushed upon the sacrificial knife of the Priests." 



" A traveller, sleeping on the banks of the Oronoco, 
has heard the mysterious sounds of the Lax as de 
musica. * He wakens his Indian guide, who con- 
gratulates him on having heard them, and tells him 
they are the voices of his departed friends from the 
regions of the dead, giving him assurance that they 
are happy, and that they watch over him : that he 
need not now fear the paw of the tiger, nor the bite 

* Rocks which are said to emit musical tones at sunrise. 



118 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

of the serpent, for he is thus protected; but far 
happier are they who so guard him." 



" A scene of surpassing beauty in Switzerland, with 
a cottage, inhabited by the wife of a chamois hunter. 
Soliloquy of a wanderer, who imagines that no 
human passions can ever have disturbed the repose 
of that sublime solitude. The chamois hunter is 
brought in dead." 



" The maid before the wizard's glass — her mind, 
wearied with the excitement of its scenes, turns in 
joy to the green fields and the skies." 



" On leaving a church full of sculpture, and coming 
into the cpen air. — The blessing of those feelings 
which withdraw us occasionally from thoughts too 
high and awful." 



" THOUGHTS AND SIMILES. 

" Distance — to be dreaded by those who love, as 
so completely dividing the current of then' thoughts 
and sympathies. One may be revelling at a banquet, 
whilst the other lies on a bed of pain, — one walking 
at evening in the summer woods, whilst the other is 
tossing on the stormy wave, at the moment of ship- 
wreck." 



" Our search into the futurity of the grave, after 
the excitements of life, compared to the first going 



MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS. 119 

forth into the darkness, after leaving a brilliant hall, 
with lights and music ; but, by degrees, we become 
accustomed to the obscurity ; star after star looks 
through it, and the objects begin to clear." 



" Virtues and powers concealed in the mind, com- 
pared to the landscapes and beautiful forms some- 
times found in the heart of a block of marble." 



" Ruins of a magnificent city seen under the waves, 
(as those of Tyre are said to be), like the traces of 
man's lofty original, obscured and faintly discernible 
through the shadows of mortality." 



" Water thrown upon ancient paintings and reviv- 
ing their forms and colours, like any sound or cir- 
cumstance reviving images of the past." 



" Strong passions, discernible under a cold exte- 
rior, like the working of water, seen under a crust of 



ice." 



Such are a few specimens, selected from amongst 
hundreds thus recorded, of the " struggling har- 
monies " which filled that ever peopled and ever busy 
imagination. Various as are these themes of song, 
it will be seen how completely they are all attuned 
to the key-note of her own woman's heart ; — affec* 
tion — pure, holy, self-sacrificing — ennobling life, sur- 



120 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

viving death, and sending back " a token and a tone " 
even from the world of spirits. * 

Mrs Hemans's literary correspondence was now 
continually on the increase. Scarcely a day passed 
without bringing some new communication, interest- 
ing either from its own originality, or from the dis- 
tinguished name of the writer. It was with no less 
truth than kindliness that Mrs Grant of Laggan 
thus wrote to her : — " Shenstone complains of his 
hard fate, in wasting a lonely existence, ' not loved, 
not praised, not known/ How very different is your 
case! Praised by all that read you, — loved by all 
that praise you, — and known, in some degree, wher- 
ever our language is spoken." 

It is pleasing to dwell upon the generous appre- 
ciation with which she was regarded by the gifted 



lowing : — 



Amongst the many subjects of a graver cast are the fol- 
A Jewish funeral at midnight in the valley of Ajalon. 



Maronite procession round the Cedars of Lebanon. 



These " Cedar Saints " had always a great hold upon her 
imagination, and she e.igerly sought out all the descriptions of 
them given by Eastern travellers. How truly after her own 
heart, would have been the reverential spirit and poetic feel- 
ing with which the sublime scenery of Lebanon has been 
described by Lord Lindsay, whose graphic touches, — " the 
stately bearing and graceful repose of the young cedars," con- 
trasted with " the wild aspect and frantic attitude of the old 



MEMOIR OF MRS HExMANS. 121 

o£ her own sex, and the frank, confiding spirit which 
always marked her intercourse with them. She 
would rejoice in their success with true sisterly dis- 
interestedness ; and the versatility of her tastes, to 
which every thing really good in its kind was sure 
to be acceptable (always excepting science and sta- 
tistics, from which ' she stood aloof in silent awe), 
gave her a capacity for enjoying with equal zest, 
the noble simplicity of Mrs Joanna Baillie, the gra- 
phic reality of Miss Mitford, the true-hearted ori- 
ginality of Mary Howitt, or the exquisite tenderness 
of Miss Bowles. The Sunday Evening of the latter 
— that pure and pious little poem, which, in its own 
sweet language 

" Falls on the heart like dew 
On the drooping heather- bell," 

was first introduced to Mrs Hemans through a 
strangely circuitous medium, having been sent to 

ones, flinging abroad their knotted and muscular limbs like so 
many Laocoons," * bring the impressive scene so completely 
before the mind's eye ! And how she would at once have 
transferred to some one of her " Books of Gems," that lovely 
picture, which haunts one like a dream, — the " view of the 
Red Sea from the plain where the children of Israel encamped 
after leaving Elim;" and where the rocks, "now so silent, 
must have re-echoed the song of Moses, and its ever re- 
turning chorus, — * Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed 
gloriously ; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the 

sea!'"t 

* Lord Lindsay's Letters, Vol. I. p. 212. 
t Idem, Vol. I. p. 315. 



122 MEMOIR OF MXtS HEMANS. 

her from Canada "by her brother, in a Montreal ga- 
zette. Long before they knew even the name of its 
author, it had gained for itself the love and favour 
of the whole household. It was copied by the elders, 
learnt by the children, and is now consecrated by re- 
collections far dearer than belong to the finest monu- 
ments of genius ; and which involuntarily excite a 
feeling of affectionate intimacy with the writer. 
Miss Bowles's Solitary Hours were often made by 
Mrs Hemans the companions of her own ; and had 
she lived to read The Birthday, its simple pathos 
and deep tenderness would have awakened many an 
answering tone in her heart. 

The letter in which she introduced herself to Miss 
Mitford, describes what she would have expressed 
to others even yet more warmly — the thorough re- 
lish with which she enjoyed the unrivalled powers of 
description and fine old English feelings of that 
delightful writer, who is as completely identified with 
" the greenwood tree," and all the fresh, free thoughts 
belonging to it, as Robin Hood himself. 

" Rhylloii, St Asaph, June 6th, 1827. 

" Madam, 

" I can hardly feel that I am addressing an en- 
tire stranger in the author of Our Village, and yet 
I know it is right and proper that I should apolo- 
gize for the liberty I am taking. But really, after 
having accompanied you again and again, as I have 
done, in < violetting ' and seeking for wood-sorrel ; 



MEMOIR OF MRS IIEMANS. 123 

after having been with you to call upon Mrs Allen 
in < the dell,' and becoming thoroughly acquainted 
with May and Lizzy, I cannot but hope that you 
will kindly pardon my intrusion, and that my name 
may be sufficiently known to you to plead my cause. 
There are some writers whose works we cannot read 
without feeling as if we really had looked with them 
upon the scenes they bring before us, and as if such 
communion had almost given us a claim to some- 
thing more than the mere intercourse between au- 
thor and ' gentle reader/ Will you allow me to 
say that your writings have this effect upon me, and 
that you have taught me, in making me know and 
love your Village so well, to wish for further 
knowledge, also, of her who has so vividly impressed 
its dingles and coppices upon my imagination, and 
peopled them so cheerily with healthful and happy 
beings ? I believe, if I could be personally intro- 
duced to you, that I should, in less than five minutes, 
begin to enquire about Lucy and the lilies of the 
valley, and whether you had succeeded in peopling 
that shady border in your own territories < with 
those shy flowers. 5 My boys, the constant compan- 
ions of my walks about our village, and along our 
two pretty rivers, the Elwy and Clwyd, are not less 
interested in your gipsies young and old, your heroes 
of the cricket-ground, and, above all — Jack Hatch ! 
— woeful and amazed did they all look, when it was 
found that Jack Hatch could die ! But I really must 



124 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

come to the aim and object of this letter, which I 
fear you may almost begin to look upon as e prose 
run mad.' I dare say you laugh sometimes, as I am 
inclined to do myself, at the prevailing mania for 
autographs : but a very kind friend of mine in a dis- 
tant country does no such thing, and I am making a 
collection for him, which I should think (and he too, 
I am sure) very much enriched by your name. If 
you do me the favour to comply with this request, 
it will give me great pleasure to hear from you, 
under cover to the Bishop of St Asaph. — With sin- 
cere esteem, I beg you to believe me, Madam, your 
faithful servant, 

" Felicia Hemans." 

This application was answered by Miss Mitford 
in just the kind and cordial tone which might have 
been expected from her ; and Mrs Hemans had the 
pleasure of transmitting to Mr Norton, the friend 
for whom she was making the collection of auto- 
graphs, " that pretty and joyous song" (as she called 
it in her letter of acknowledgment), " The Welcome 
Home," in Miss Mitford's own hand- writing. " Your 
autograph," she wrote some months later, " which I 
transmitted to my American friends, was very grate- 
fully received, and is enshrined in a book amidst I 
know not how many other < bright names : ' for 
aught I know, Washington himself may be there, 
side by side with you ; and not improbably is, for 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 125 

they are going to send me an original letter of his, 
which I shall prize much." 

Several years after, when this song was published 
in the fifth volume of Our Village, the following 
note was appended to it by the warm-hearted writer. 
u I have a kindness for this little song quite uncon- 
nected with any merit of its own — if merit it have — 
since it formed one of the earliest links in my cor- 
respondence with the richly gifted poetess, the ad- 
mirable and delightful woman, Mrs Hemans. She 
will remember the circumstance. Our correspond- 
ence has sometimes languished since, but the friend- 
ship that sprang from it I humbly hope can never 
alter." 

The correspondence had indeed " languished," 
with many others not less valued ; for by that time 
(1833) the delicacy of Mrs Hemans's health had 
obliged her in a great measure to give up letter 
writing, her reclining posture making it necessary to 
adopt the use of the pencil instead of the pen. But 
the warmth of her feelings towards those she loved 
and admired continued undiminished, and when this 
affectionate little notice was unexpectedly brought 
before her, she described herself as having been 
moved almost to tears by the genuine cordiality of 
its tone, while it gladdened her heart like a sudden 
meeting with a friend. It was one of her many pro- 
jects at that period to write a volume of prose 
sketches — Recollections of a Poet's Childhood, and 
descriptions of scenes which had most interested 



126 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

and struck lier in after years — and this she intended 
to dedicate to Miss Mitford.* 

But this is anticipating. To return to the year 
1827, and to a letter to Mrs Joanna Baillie, in 
which she writes — " You say, my dear madam, that 
you wish you had something to send me. May I, thus 
emboldened, ask you for something which 1 have long 
wished to possess, but have not been able- to procure, 
as I believe it is at present out of print, — your de- 
lightful little drama of The Beacon ? — or perhaps 
you can guide me as to where I may meet with it. I 
have an edition of your works, containing the Plays 
on the Passions (with the exception of Orra), 

* That little song, with its name of happy omen, " The 
Welcome Home," does not cease to be identified with the 
pleasantest recollections. Mr Noiton will forgive the liberty 
that is taken in making the following extract from one of his 
letters, for the sake of showing how such remembrances are 
cherished in a far-distant land. " Most of my autographs 
have a peculiar value to me from their associations with the 
donors as well as the writers ; and as I shall record the names 
of the former in the volume (the first) which I am just about 
completing, it will be to me a book full of deeply interesting 
recollections. I have a particular value for some pieces in my 
collection, but for none more than a song sent by Miss Mitford 
to Mrs Hemans, and given by the latter to me, which Miss 
Mitford mentions in the last volume of Our Village in a 
manner to make it an object of curiosity and feeling as long as 
Our Village or Mrs Hemans's poetry is read; that is, as 
long as English literature exists."' — Cambridge, N.E. 24th 
May, 1835. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 127 

Bthwald, Rayner, and Constantine, and I have 
The Family Legend separate ; but The Beacon 
I have not met with since I read it almost in child- 
hood, and made some extracts from it which would 
amuse you if you could see them in the school-girl 
hand of fourteen or fifteen. That heart- cheering 
song, 

* The absent will return — the long, long lost be found,' 
I remember being more especially pleased with — 
it breathes such a spirit of hope and joy ; and I am 
by nature inclined to both, though early cares have 
chastened and subdued a mind, perhaps but too ar- 
dent originally. 

" I have another favour to request ; it is the per- 
mission to dedicate to you, of whom my whole sex 
may be proud, a work which I shall probably publish 
in the course of this present year, and which is to be 
called Records of Woman. If you do not object 
to this, I will promise that the inscription shall be 
as simple as you could desire. 

" My children were much pleased by your kind 
mention of them; the one who had been reading 
Ethwald with such interest, was not a little 
amused to find himself designated as a girl : I have 
none but boys, a circumstance I often am inclined to 
regret ; for I married so young that they are even 
now beginning to spring from childhood into youth 
themselves, and, in the course of a few years I must 
expect that they will long for, and be launched in- 
to, another world than the green fields in which they 



128 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

are now contented to play around me. Let me, 
however, be thankful for the happiness I at present 
enjoy, and for the privilege which peculiar circum- 
stances have afforded me, and which is granted to so 
few mothers, of being able myself to superintend 
their education, and give what I hope will be en- 
during impressions to their minds. Now that I am 
upon this subject, dear madam, I am strongly tempt- 
ed to relate a little anecdote which I think will in- 
terest you — (mammas are always prone to believe 
their children must be interesting) — of one of them 
at eleven years old. I had been reading to him 
Lord Byron's magnificent address to the sea — 
* Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, — roll ! ' 
He listened in almost breathless attention, and ex- 
claimed, the moment I had finished it — c It is very 
grand indeed ! — but how much finer it would have 
been, mamma, if he had said at the close, that God 
had measured out all those waters with the hollow 
of his hand !' I could not help being struck with 
the true wisdom thus embodied in the simplicity of 
childhood." 

The same remark may be applied to an anecdote 
related in a letter to another friend, about this time. 
" Charles" (then eight years old) " is sitting by me, 
reading Warton's Death-bed Scenes, with which 
he is greatly delighted. One of the stories is called 
< The Atheist,' and on my explaining to him what 
the word meant, which he did not know, he exclaim- 
ed, with the greatest astonishment — " Not believe in 

' CD 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 129 

a God, mamma! — Who does he expect made the 
world and his own body ?' " 

These litttle traits call to mind the concluding" 
verse of Wordsworth's " Anecdote for Fathers ;" — 

" O dearest, dearest boy ! my heart 

For better lore would seldom yearn, 
Could I but teach the hundredth part 
Of what from thee I learn." 

In the autumn of 1827, at the urgent request of 
Mr Alaric Watts, who was then forming a gallery 
of portraits of the living authors of Great Britain, 
Mrs Hemans was prevailed upon to sit for her pic- 
ture. The artist selected on this occasion was Mr 
W E. West, an American by birth, who had passed 
some time in Italy, and painted the last likeness ever 
taken of Lord Byron, and also one of Madame Guic- 
cioli, which was engraved in one of the annuals. 
During his stay at Rhyllon, where he remained for 
some weeks, he finished three several portraits of 
Mrs Hemans ; one for Mr Alaric Watts, one which 
is now in the possession of Professor Norton, and a 
third; which he most courteously presented to Mrs 
Hemans's sister, to whom it was even then a treasure, 
and is now become one of inestimable value. This 
likeness, considered by her family as the best ever 
taken of her, is the one from which the engraving 
has been made which forms the frontispiece to this 
volume, and which suggested Mrs Hemans's affect- 
ing lines, " To my own portrait." The first-named 
of these pictures has now, it is understood, passed 



130 • MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

into the hands of Mr Fisher, the proprietor of The 
Drawing-room Scrap-Booh. Engravings from it 
have appeared in that work and in The Christian 
Keepsake ; but they are any thing but satisfactory ; 
and give the idea of a sallowness of complexion and 
sternness of countenance, as different from the origi- 
nal as possible. It is, however, only fair to repeat 
the remark already made, and in which all those who 
were accustomed to study the play of her features 
must concur — that there never was a countenance 
more difficult to transfer to canvass ; so varying 
were its expressions, and so impossible is it to be sa- 
tisfied with the one which can alone be perpetuated 
by the artist. The great charm of Mr West's pic- 
ture is its perfect freedom from any thing set or con- 
strained in the air ; and the sweet, serious expres- 
sion, so accordant with her maternal character, 
which recalls her own lines. — 

* * Mother ! with thine earnest eye 
Ever following silently."* 
and which made one of her children remark, in 
glancing from it to the bust, executed some years 
after by Mr Angus Fletcher, " The bust is the 
poetess, but the picture is all mother." 

Even yet more difficult than to depict the anima- 
tion of her countenance, would it be to give any 
adequate idea of the brilliant versatility of her con- 
versation ; its delicate wit, its engaging playfulness,. 

• From The Hour of Prayer. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 131 

and that perpetual flow of allusion and illustration, 
which proved her possession of inexhaustible stores 
of knowledge, far more general than her writings, 
from the individuality of their character, ever brought 
into evidence. Many people, who had prepared them- 
selves to see in the author of The Sceptic, and The 
Forest Sanctuary, a " potent, grave, and reverend" 
personage, whom it would be necessary to approach 
with a solemn air, and a formal complimentary ad- 
dress, were as much astonished by her frankness and 
vivacity, as by her thorough freedom from preten- 
sion, and everything approaching to the technicalities 
of a " learned lady." All these she held as much in 
detestation as she did the duty compliments and con- 
ventional homage of those by whom every intellec- 
tual woman is indiscriminately treated as a has bleu, 
and saluted in some such strain of hyperbole as used 
to prevail in the Delia Cruscan coteries of Hayley 
and Miss Seward ; whilst no one could be more alive 
to the delight of being really understood and appre- 
ciated, or of knowing that anything she had written 
had found its way into the depths of any kind, and 
true, and loving heart. 

She had that quick sense of the ludicrous, which 
is the frequent concomitant of an intense perception 
of the beautiful, and few could have wielded the 
shafts of ridicule more effectually ; yet it has been 
truly said, that " no sharp or scornful speech is on 
record against her." Sarcasm she deprecated as 
unwomanly and unamiable ; personalities were ever 



132 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

distasteful to her, and, from the sensitiveness of her 
own nature, she instinctively learned a " thoughtful 
tenderness " for others. Sincerity, in however gro- 
tesque a guise, always insured her respect ; and its 
contrary, though clothed in "paroles d'or et de sole" 
was, of all others, the thing of which she was most 
intolerant. The blended loftiness and simplicity of 
her nature — a union so little to be understood by 
the commonplace and the worldly — exposed her to 
perpetual misconstructions. None but her most 
intimate friends could fully appreciate her varied 
powers, and frank, deep affections. Amongst those 
chosen few, her endearing guilelessness — her uncom- 
plaining sorrows — her susceptibility to kindness, on 
which her peculiar position made her lean so trust- 
ingly — her high aspirations and gentle charities — ■ 
her very self-forgetfulness, which seemed to require 
the presence of some ever watchful and tenderly 
ministering spirit — all these awakened a mingled feel- 
ing of admiration, honour, anxiety, and protecting 
care, which amounted to absolute enthusiasm. In 
this spirit, one who knew her long and well, wrote of 
her, with an honest warmth at which few could have 
the heart to cavil. — " Nothing but ignorance or ill- 
nature could point out a marring trait in a woman's 
nature, in which there were no faults that were not 
better in themselves, and more engaging, than the 
virtues or merits, whatever people choose to call 
them, of most others." When amongst those she 
loved and trusted (and with her, indeed, these terms 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 133 

were synonymous), she would give herself up, with 
childlike abandon, to the mood of the moment, what- 
ever it might he. Her first impulse was to impart 
to her friends whatever had delighted or amused her- 
self ; and in this way, she would good-humouredly 
enjoy with them the strange proofs of celebrity — 
the whimsical tributes, the adulatory letters, the 
overstrained compliments, which were showering 
down upon her daily. Yet nothing would have dis- 
tressed her more than the idea of any of these com- 
munications ever being held up to public ridicule — 
nothing could be more repugnant to her feelings than 
to give pain to any one who had wished to give her 
pleasure, or to incur the charge of requiting with 
ingratitude any thing meant in kindness. 

During the winter of 1827, her health was very 
variable, and the inflammatory attacks to which she 
was always subject, were unfortunately increased both 
in frequency and violence, by her personal careless- 
ness, which no warnings or entreaties could control, 
and by her unconquerable dislike to the adoption of 
the necessary remedies, and the being laid up as an 
acknowledged invalid. This made her unwilling to 
confess what she suffered, as long as it was possible 
to bear on in silence. " Entre nous" she wrote to 
a friend, " my chest and side have begun to burn 
again fiercely. I have not yet mentioned the recur- 
rence of this pain at home, because they would make 
me put blisters on, and I am in hopes, if I keep quiet, 
that I shall get rid of it without such abominations." 



134 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" Do not be uneasy about this fiery pain of mine ; 
I am told that it is not from the lungs, but only 
nervous, and in this opinion I am inclined to agree, 
because it generally attacks me after I have been 
thinking intently, or after any agitation of mind." 

All this time, her imagination was at work more 
busily than ever ; new thoughts and fresh fancies 
seemed to spring up "as willows by the water-courses," 
and the facility with which her lyrics were poured 
forth, approached, in many instances, to actual im- 
provisation. When confined to her bed, and unable 
to use a pen, she would often employ the services of 
those about her, to write down what she had com- 
posed. " Felicia has just sent for me," wrote her 
amanuensis on one of these occasions, " with pencil 
and paper, to put down a little song,* which, she 
said, had come to her like a strain of music, whilst 
lying in the twilight under the infliction of a blister ; 
and as I really think, ' a scrap' (as our late eccentric 
visitor would call it) composed under such circum- 
stances, is, to use the words of Coleridge, a \ psycho- 
logical curiosity,' I cannot resist copying it for you. 
It was suggested by a story she somewhere read 
lately, of a Greek islander, carried off to the Vale 
of Tempe, and pining amidst all its beauties, for the 
sight and sound of his native sea." 

One of the pieces of this date is thus mentioned 
by herself. " I am so glad you liked ' Fairy 
Favours.' It is, indeed, filled with my own true 

* " Where is the Sea?" 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 135 

and ever yearning feeling; that longing for more 
affection, more confidence, more entire interchange 
of thought, than I am ever likely to meet with. 
However, I will not repine, whilst I have friends 
who love me as you do." 

To Mrs Joanna Baillie, she wrote, "with the 
return of the violet," — " It seems very long since I 
have had any communication with you; but this 
privation has been my own fault, or rather my mis- 
fortune ; for a good deal of illness during the winter 
compelled me to give up all other occupation, for 
that particularly uninteresting one — taking care of 
myself, or rather allowing others to take care of 
me. I know not how it is, but I always feel so 
ashamed of the apparent egotism and selfishness 
attendant on indisposition — the muffling one's self 
up, taking the warmest place, shrinking from the 
mirthful noises of those who are in full health, &c. 
&c, that I believe I am apt to fall into the con- 
trary extreme, and so, in the end, to occasion ten 
times more trouble than I should have done with 
a little proper submission. But a truce to the re- 
membrances of indisposition, now that the Spring 
is really come forth with all her singing-birds and 
violets. It seems as if sadness had no right to a 
place amongst the bright and fair things of the 
season. 

" Dr Channing has lately published a very noble 
essay on the character of Napoleon, occasioned by 
Sir Walter Scott's Life of that dazzling but most 



136 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

uiiheroic personage. I wish you may meet with it ; 
I am sure that the lofty thoughts embodied by its 
writer, in his own fervid eloquence, could not fail to 
delight you ; and his high views of moral beauty are 
really freshening to the heart, which longs to pour 
itself forth in love and admiration, and finds so little 
in the every-day world whereon such feelings may 
repose. 

" The little volume, Records of Woman, which 
you kindly gave me permission to inscribe to you, 
is now in the press, and I hope I shall soon be able 
to send you a copy ; and that the dedication, which 
is in the simplest form, will be honoured by your 
approval. Mr Blackwood is its publisher." 

Mrs Hemans always spoke with pleasure of her 
literary intercourse with Mr Blackwood, in whose 
dealings she recognised all that uprightness and 
liberality which belonged to the sterling worth of 
his character. The Records of Woman, the first 
of her works published by him, was brought out in 
May 1828. This volume was, to use the words of 
its author, the one in which " she had put her heart 
and individual feelings more than in anything else 
she had written ;" and it is also, and perhaps conse- 
quently, the one which has held its ground the most 
steadily in public favour. 

The following extract is from a letter of this date, 
to Mrs Howitt, who had lately had to mourn the 
loss of one of her children : — 

" I can feel deeply for the sorrow you communi- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 137 

cate to me ; it is one which Heaven has yet graciously- 
spared me ; but the imagination within us is a fear- 
ful and mysterious power, and has often brought all 
the sufferings of that particular bereavement before 
me, with a vividness from which I have shrunk 
almost in foreboding terror. And I have felt, too 
(though not through the breaking of that tie), those 
sick and weary yearnings for the dead, that feverish 
thirst for the sound of a. departed voice or step, in 
which the heart seems to die away, and literally to 
become * a fountain of tears.' Who can sound its 
depths ? — One alone, and may He comfort you ! 

" When you write to Mr Bernard Barton, with 
whom, most probably, you are in frequent communi- 
cation, will you mention, with my kind regards, that 
many months of languishing health have caused the 
interruption in my correspondence with him, but 
that I am now reviving, and hope shortly to resume 
it. I sent a copy of your delightful little volume, 
The Desolation of Eyam> a short time since, to 
some very intelligent friends, whom I am fortunate 
enough to possess in America ; they will, I know, 
be able to appreciate all its feeling and beauty." 

Early in the summer of this year, Mrs Hemans 
accomplished a long-projected visit to her old friends 
at Wavertree Lodge, under whose hospitable roof, 
and more than affectionate care, she remained for 
several weeks. The state of her health appeared to 
them so serious, that she was at last persuaded to 
resign herself to medical discipline ; and amongst 



138 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

many other precautionary measures, the almost en- 
tire adoption of a reclining posture was prescribed 
to her. One of her objects in this visit, besides the 
pleasure of being once more in the society of those 
she valued so truly, was, to make the necessary 
arrangements for engaging a residence in that neigh- 
bourhood, to which she was inclined to remove, on 
the approaching dispersion of the family circle at 
Rhyllon, occasioned by the marriage of her sister, 
and the appointment of her second brother to an 
official situation in Ireland. The possession of such 
attached friends in that vicinity (amongst whom she 
already numbered Mrs Lawrence of Wavertree 
Hall, in herself a host), with the anticipation of 
superior advantages for the education of her boys, 
and of more literary communion for herself, com- 
bined to influence her in selecting this spot for her 
new abode ; and the eager delight with which her 
project was hailed by those who were ready with 
open arms to receive her amongst them, contributed 
not a little to confirm her in the decision. She was 
not long in fixing upon a suitable house, situated in 
the village of Wavertree, but a little apart from the 
road ; and arrangements were accordingly made for 
her removal in the following September. During 
her present visit, notwithstanding the medical re- 
strictions she had to submit to, her spirits were re- 
freshed and cheered by much enlivening society, and 
the formation of many new acquaintances; one of 
which, that with the Chorley family, soon ripened 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS 139 

into friendship. Some of its members were, at that 
time, interested in the superintendence of that pretty 
Annual, The Winter's Wreath, for which Mrs 
Hemans's contributions had been solicited ; and the 
correspondence which had begun on editorial sub- 
jects, led first of all to personal communication, and 
then to the discovery of so many congenial tastes and 
pursuits (more especially with reference to music 
and German literature), that a cordial intimacy was 
speedily established, and Mrs Hemans looked for- 
ward to its cultivation as one of the pleasant features 
of her new perspective. This anticipation was well 
borne out by the reality ; many of her happiest hours 
of intellectual and social enjoyment during the next 
two years, were passed at Mrs Chorley's friendly 
fireside, where the zealous and considerate kindness 
that always awaited her, made a little bright realm 
of home-like sunshine, which was just the atmosphere 
in which she ever shone " brightest and best " — in 
which her mind expanded like a flower, and her 
conversation flowed forth like a gushing stream. 
Though the intercourse thus mutually enjoyed was 
afterwards dissolved by her final change of residence, 
she always reverted to it with undiminished pleasure. 
To the thoughtful, steady, indefatigable friendship 
of Mr W. B. Chorley, more particularly, shown in a 
thousand acts of service to herself and her children, 
she would often allude during her last illness, and 
desire he might be assured how gratefully she 
cherished the remembrance of it. 



140 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

Amongst other interesting acquaintances made 
by her at this time, was that of Mary Howitt, best 
known by her own sweet and simple designation, of 
whose writings she had long been a sincere admirer, 
and whose society derived an additional charm from 
her being the first member of the Society of Friends 
whom Mrs Hemans had ever known personally, 
though she had been in correspondence with more 
than one of the fraternity. A still brighter smile of 
good fortune awaited her, in the unexpected arrival 
in Liverpool of her kind New England friends, Mr 
and Mrs Norton. They had written to announce 
their coming, but the letter had not been received, 
so that their appearance was quite unlooked for. 
" I assure you," wrote Mrs Hemans, in detailing the 
lucky coincidences which led to this meeting, " the 
delightful surprise was almost too much for me. I 
had the greatest difficulty in refraining from tears 
when I first met them." 

The short personal intercourse she was permitted 
to enjoy with these interesting friends, was a source 
of the truest gratification to her both in the reality 
and the retrospect. She had the pleasure of renew- 
ing it for a few days on her return into Wales, as, 
after making a tour through the most remarkable 
parts of Great Britain, they paid a visit to St Asaph 
before re-embarking for America. 

This period, so rich in friendships and recollec- 
tions, was also the one which brought Mrs Hemans 
into immediate communication with another bright 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 141 

spirit, now, like her own, passed away from earth. 
This was the late Miss Jewsbury, afterwards Mrs 
Fletcher — whose extraordinary mental powers, and 
lofty, ardent nature, have never been appreciated as 
they deserved — were never, in fact, fully manifested 
except to the few who knew her intimately. She 
had long admired the writings of Mrs Hemans with 
all the enthusiasm which characterised her tempera- 
ment ; and having been for some time in correspond- 
ence with her, she eagerly sought for an opportunity 
of knowing her more nearly, and with this view, 
determined upon passing a part of the summer and 
autumn of 1828 in the neighbourhood of St Asaph. 
No better accommodation could be found for her 
than a very small dwelling called Primrose Cottage, 
a corruption (meant, perhaps, for a refining) of its 
original appellation of Pumrhos (The Five Com- 
mons). The place in itself was as little attractive 
as a cottage in Wales could well be, and its close- 
ness to the road took away even from its rurality ; 
but it possessed the advantage of being not more 
than half a mile from Rhyllon ; and it had its little 
garden, and its roses, and its green turf, and pure 
air ; and these to an inhabitant of Manchester, which 
Miss Jewsbury then was, were things of health and 
enjoyment. Thither then she repaired, with the 
young sister and brothers to whom she had long 
and well performed the duties of a mother ; and 
there Mrs Hemans found her established on her own 
return from Wavertree at the end of July. It may 



142 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

well be conceived how soon a feeling of warm inter- 
est and thorough understanding sprang up between 
two minds so rarely gifted, and both so intent upon 
consecrating their gifts to the highest and holiest 
purposes. Yet it was scarcely possible to imagine 
two individual natures more str iking ly contrasted — 
the one so intensely feminine, so susceptible and ima- 
ginative, so devoted to the tender and the beautiful ; 
the other endowed with masculine energies, with 
a spirit that seemed born for ascendency, with strong 
powers of reasoning, fathomless profundity of thought, 
and feelings, like those of her own Julia,* " flashing 
forth at intervals with sudden and Vesuvian splen- 
dour, making the beholder aware of depths beyond 
his vision." No less an authority than Mr Words- 
worth has said of her, that "in one quality, viz., 
quickness in the motions of the mind, she had, with- 
in the range of his acquaintance, no equal." f With 
all this, she possessed warm and generous affections, 
a peculiar faculty for identifying herself with the 
tastes and predilections of those she loved, and in 
conversation, when embodying the conceptions of 
her own " ever salient mind" (to quote an expres- 
sion from Bishop Jebb), a singular talent for elicit- 
ing thoughts from others, which reminded one of 
the magic properties of the divining rod. From early 
years she had had to contend with that precarious 

* In The Three Histories. 

t See the Note to the Poem of " Liberty," in the fifth vol. 
of Wordsworth's Poetical Works. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 143 

and suffering state of health, so often the accompani- 
ment of the restless, ardent spirit, which 
" O'er-informs its tenement of clay." 

She came into Wales, indeed, completely as an 
invalid, but was soon sufficiently recruited to enter 
with full enjoyment into all the novelties around her, 
to pass long mornings in the dingle, to take distant 
rides on her donkey, surrounded by a troop of juve- 
nile knights -errant, and to hold levees in the tent 
she had had contrived as a temporary addition to 
her tiny dwelling, whose wicket gate can now never 
be passed, by those still left to remember the con- 
verse of those bright hours, without a gush of mourn- 
ful recollections. 

Many of the poems in her Lays of Leisure Hours, 
which she dedicated to Mrs Hemans " in remem- 
brance of the summer passed in her society," were 
written in this little cottage. Some of them were 
immediately addressed to her, particularly that " To 
an absent one ;" and the first of the series of " Poe- 
tical Portraits, " in the same volume, was meant to 
describe her. The picture of " Egeria," in The 
Three Histories, written by Miss Jewsbury some 
time afterwards, was avowedly taken from the same 
original ; and allowing for a certain degree of idea- 
lization, is drawn with no less truth than delicacy, 
and may well claim an introduction in this place. 
" Egeria was totally different from any other woman 
I had ever seen, either in Italy or England. She 
did not dazzle, she subdued me. Other women 



144 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANt 

might be more commanding, more versatile, more 
acute ; but I never saw one so exquisitely feminine." 
***** 
" Her birth, her education, but above all, the 
genius with which she was gifted, combined to inspire 
a passion for the ethereal, the tender, the imaginative, 
the heroic, — in one word, the beautiful. It was in 
her a faculty divine, and yet of daily life — it touched 
all things, but, like a sun-beam, touched them with a 
6 golden finger.' Any thing abstract or scientific 
was unintelligible and distasteful to her ; her know- 
ledge was extensive and various, but, true to the first 
principle of her nature, it was poetry that she sought 
in history, scenery, character, and religious belief, — 
poetry, that guided all her studies, governed all her 
thoughts, coloured all her conversation. Her nature 
was at once simple and profound ; there was no room 
in her mind for philosophy, nor in her heart for am- 
bition ; — the one was filled by imagination, the other 
engrossed by tenderness. She had a passive temper, 
but decided tastes ; any one might influence, but very 
few impressed her. Her strength and her weakness 
alike lay in her affections ; these would sometimes 
make her weep at a word, at others, imbue her with 
courage ; so that she was alternately ' a falcon- 
hearted dove,' and ' a reed shaken with the wind.' 
Her voice was a sad, sweet melody, and her spirits 
reminded me of an old poet's description of the orange 
tree, with its 

*" Golden lamps hid in a night of green ;** 



MEMOIK OF MRS HEMANS. 145 

or of those Spanish gardens where the pomegranate 
grows beside the cypress. Her gladness was like a 
burst of sun-light ; and if, in her depression, she re- 
sembled night, it was night bearing her stars. I 
might describe and describe for ever, but I should 
never succeed in portraying Egeria ; she was a muse, 
a grace, a variable child, a dependent woman, the 
Italy of human beings." 

Miss Jewsbury's enthusiasm for the poetry of Mr 
Wordsworth, whose friendship she regarded, and 
with reason, as one of the highest privileges she 
possessed, was the means of leading Mrs Hemans to 
a more close and intimate acquaintance with the 
treasures she had hitherto reverenced rather with 
vague and general admiration than with earnest and 
individual study. How readily this obligation was 
acknowledged, appears in a letter, the date of which 
was considerably prior to that of Miss Jewsb ry^s 
visit to Wales. 

" The inclosed lines,* an effusion of deep and sin- 
cere admiration, will give you some idea of the en- 
joyment, and I hope I may say advantage, which 
you have been the means of imparting, by so kindly 
entrusting me with your precious copy of Words- 
worth's Miscellaneous Poems. It has opened to me 
such a treasure of thought and feeling, that I shall 
always associate your name with some of my pleasant- 
est recollections, as having introduced me to the 
knowledge of what I can only regret should have 

* Those addressed " To the Poet Wordsworth.'' 
I. K 



146 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

been so long a l Yarrow unvisited.' I would not 
write to you sooner, because I wished to tell you 
that I had really studied these poems, and they have 
been the daily food of my mind ever since I borrowed 
them. There is hardly any scene of a happy, though 
serious, domestic life, or any mood of a reflective 
mind, with the spirit of which some one or other of 
them does not beautifully harmonize. This author 
is the true poet of home, and of all the lofty feelings 
which have their root in the soil of home affections. 
His fine sonnets to Liberty, and indeed all his pieces 
which have any reference to political interest, remind 
me of the spirit in which Schiller has conceived the 
character of William Tell, a calm, single-hearted 
herdsman of the hills, breaking forth into fiery and 
indignant eloquence, when the sanctity of his hearth 
is invaded. Then what power Wordsworth condenses 
into single lines, like Lord Byron's < curdling a long 
life into one hour ! ' 

* The still, sad music of humanity' — 

' The river glideth at his own sweet will' — 

* Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove broods' — 

and a thousand others, which we must some time 
(and I hope not a very distant one), talk over toge- 
ther. Many of these lines quite haunt me ; and I 
have a strange feeling, as if I must have known them 
in my childhood; they come over me so like old 
melodies. I can hardly speak of favourites among 
so many things that delight me ; but I think < The 
Narrow Glen/ the Lines on Corra Linn, the < Song- 



MEMOIR OFMRSHEMANS. 147 

for the Feast of Brougham Castle,' l Yarrow 
Visited,' and ' The Cuckoo,' are among those which 
take hold of imagination the soonest, and recur most 

frequently to memory. 

******* 

" I know not how I can have so long omitted to 
mention the Ecclesiastical Sketches, which I have 
read and do constantly read, with deep interest. Their 
beauty grows upon you and developes as you study 
it, like that of the old pictures by the Italian masters." 

In one of her letters of this autumn, Mrs Hemans 
makes mention of an interesting visit she had re- 
ceived from the Poet Montgomery (not the new as- 
pirant to that name, but the " real Peter Bell"), who 
had just come from Snowdon, full of animation and 
enthusiasm. " He complained much in the course of 
conversation," she writes, " and I heartily joined with 
him, of the fancy which wise people have in the pre- 
sent times, for setting one right ; cheating one, that 
is, out of all the pretty old legends and stories, in 
the place of which they want to establish dull facts. 
We mutually grumbled about Fair Rosamond, Queen 
Eleanor and the poisoned wound, Richard the Third 
and his hump-back; but agreed most resolutely that 
nothing should ever induce us to give up William 
Tell." 

There was nothing she disliked more than the 
disturbance of any old associations, or the reasoning 
away of any ancient belief, endeared to our hearts by 
the childish recollections with which it is interwoven. 



14S MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" I admire your resolute spirit of faith/' she once 
wrote to a friend who had been visiting some scenes 
consecrated by tradition ; " for my part, so determined 
is mine, that if I went to Rushin Castle, I should cer- 
tainly look for the giant, said to be chained and slum- 
bering in the dark vaults of that pile." 

She would often speak with delight of the taste 
she had discovered in Bishop Heber for fairy tales 
and fantastic legends ; and it is needless to say how 
heartily she entered into the congenial predilections 
of Sir Walter Scott. Her own enjoyment of such 
fanciful creations was fresh and childlike. The " Irish 
Fairy Legends" were always high in her favour, and 
the " German popular Stories" were as familiar to 
her young auditors at the fireside readings, as to 
those of Mr Crabbe. * 

" Alice my wife, 
The plague of my life," 

was in quite as bad repute amongst them, as she 
could have been at Pucklechurch, and little voices 
would make the hearth ring with manly threats of 
" what / would do, if I had such a wife !" 

" I am very much enjoying myself," she wrote in 
one of her notes from Wavertree, " in the society of 
certain Luft und Feuergeister, Wasser und Wald- 
geister, and Feen und Feldgeister, f introduced to 

* See the " Life of Crabbe," p. 304. 

f Air and Fire Spirits, Water and Wood Spirits, and Fairies 
and Field Spirits. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 149 

me by the worthy Herr Dobeneck, in a book of 
Deutschen VolJcsglauben. * These geister of his, 
are, to be sure, a little wild and capricious in their 
modes of proceeding ; but even this is a relief, after 
the macadamized mortality in which one has to pass 
all the days of one's life. I like your superstition 
about good wishes, and am very much inclined to 
agree with him who says ' Es ist alles wahr wodurch 
du lesser wirsV " f 

There was one German tradition in particular, 
" Die Sage vom Wolfsbvunnen" (The Legend of 
the Wolfs Well), which had made a deep impression 
upon her imagination, and at one time she had 
thought of making it the subject of a poem of some 
length ; but the train of feeling it suggested was too 
painfully exciting, and she wisely decided upon lay- 
ing it aside.f 

* German Popular Superstitions. 

f Every thing is true by which thou art made better. 

% The Wolfsbrunnen, a place of real existence, is situated 
in a romantic little valley near Heidelberg. The secluded and 
somewhat melancholy air of the spot accords well with the tra- 
dition belonging to it, which relates, that in ancient days, long 
before the building of the present Castle of Heidelberg, there 
existed, on the mountain where the ruins called the Jetthe 
Buhl are still to be seen, an enchanted Castle, which was in- 
habited by a maiden of surpassing beauty, generally regarded 
as a sorceress. A young hunter, named Ferrand, famed alike 
for his daring deeds and manly beauty, had one day the hardi- 
hood to penetrate into the magic precincts of the Castle. He 
became enamoured of the fair Enchantress, by whom his love 



150 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

The time had now arrived for Mrs Hemans's 
leaving Wales, and this removal, which had been 
contemplated at a distance with more of hope than 
of dread, proved in the reality a heart-rending trial, 
increased in bitterness, too, by the additional sorrow 
of parting with her two eldest boys, who were sent 
at this time to join their father at Rome. " I am 
suffering deeply," she wrote to her late kind hosts, 
" more than I could have dreamt or imagined, from 
the < farewell sadness/ My heart seems as if a 
night-mare weighed it down. Seriously and truly, 
I am most careful of myself, though too many con- 
flicting thoughts and feelings are at work upon me 

was in time returned. Yielding to his incessant importunities 
that she would reveal to him the secret of her supernatural 
powers, she at last disclosed to him that she was not a fairy, 
but the daughter of a Northern King, and that it had been 
predicted at her birth that she was to become the prey of a 
wolf. Her mother, who was of Southern origin, had consign- 
ed her, when on her own deathbed, to the care of an enchan- 
ter, who had promised to transport her far from the rugged 
regions of the North. He had placed her in this Castle, and 
invested her with Talismans to ward off the approach of evil. 
These were the white bird which perpetually hovered round 
her, the girdle of gems which she always wore, and the golden 
Tiara which encircled her beautiful hair. But the imperious 
Ferrand insisted upon her throwing aside all these appen- 
dages, which he regarded as the spells of some malignant spirit, 
and making an assignation with him to show herself to his pa- 
rents as a simple mortal, divested of all supernatural attributes. 
The gentle Welleda consented, though dark inward forebodings 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 15 1 

now, — and I have to say too many of those l words 
which must be and have been,' to admit of my making 
the progress I otherwise might. You know it is 
impossible I should be better till all these billows 
have passed over me. The improvisatore talent has 
scarcely deserted me yet, but it is gushing from a 
fountain of tears — Oh ! that I could but lift up my 
heart, and sustain it at that height where alone the 
calm sunshine is !" 

The description of her feelings, when the actual 
parting took place, proves that there was no exagge- 
ration in the affectionate sadness of her " Farewell 
to Wales," and the blessing she thus fondly left with 
it: — 

whispered but too plainly of the fatal consequences that would 
ensue : these warnings she imparted to her ungenerous lover, 
but without shaking his purpose. She promised, therefore, to 
meet him in the evening, by the side of this fountain, under the 
shade of its overarching lime trees. Thither she repaired at 
the appointed hour, and Ferrand, hastening to the rendezvous, 
arrived at the very moment when the fang of a ravenous wolf 
had inflicted a mortal wound on his hapless Welleda. Frantic 
with horror and remorse, he annihilated the ferocious animal 
on the spot, and then turned to receive the last sighs of the 
fond being who had sacrifioed herself to his exacting tyranny. 
He buried her beside the fountain, and quitted the spot no 
more till his own death, which followed erelong. A kind 
shepherd then laid him beside his Welleda, and planted a lin- 
den tree on the mound of turf which covered the remains of 
these unfortunate lovers. 

This legend has been worked up into a pretty little prose ro- 
mance in German by Madame Von Helwig. 



152 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" The sound of thy streams in my spirit I bear — 
Farewell ! and a blessing be with thee, green land ! 
On thy hearths, on thy halls, on thy pure mountain air, 
On the chords of the harp, and the minstrel's free hand! 
From the love of my soul with my tears it is shed, 
As I leave thee, green land of my home and my dead." 

" Oh ! that Tuesday morning !" (thus she wrote 
in her first letter to St Asaph). " I literally covered 
my face all the way from Bronwylfa until the hoys 
told me we had passed the Clwyd range of hills. Then 
something of the bitterness was over. 

" Miss P. met me at Bagillt, and on board the 
packet we found Mr D., who was kinder to me than 
I can possibly tell you. He really watched over 
me all the way with a care I shall not soon forget ; 
and notwithstanding all you may say of female pro- 
tection, I felt that of a gentleman to be a great com- 
fort, for we had a difficult and disagreeable landing. 
As we entered the port, a vessel coming out, struck 
against ours, and caused a great concussion ; there 
was no danger, I imagine, but it gave one a faint 
notion of what the meeting must have been between 
the Comet and the Aire. We had a pretty sight on 
the Water ; another packet, loaded, clustered all over 
with blue-coat boys, sailed past. It was their annual 
holiday, on which they have a water excursion ; and 
as they went by, all the little fellows waved their 
hats, and sent forth three cheers, which made our 
vessel ring again. Only imagine a ship-load of 
happiness ! That word reminds me of my own boys, 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 153 

who are enjoying themselves greatly. Of myself, 

what can I say to you? When I look 

back on the short time that has elapsed since I left 
this place, I am astonished ; I seem in it to have lived 
an age of deep, strong, vain feeling." 

After remaining for a time with her ever consi- 
derate friends at Wavertree Lodge, Mrs Hemans at 
length took possession of her own little domicile, 
where she was surrounded by all that the most sedu- 
lous kindness could devise, to foster and shelter, and 
reconcile her to the new soil in which she was now 
to take root. Not only by the old friends on whose 
regard she had a claim, but by numbers hitherto 
strangers, she was overwhelmed with offers of ser- 
vice and marks of courtesy. From the overtures of 
the latter, however, she was, in a great measure, 
obliged to withdraw, as her habits, her health, the 
urgency of her literary occupations, and the inde- 
scribable pressure of correspondence, of which words 
can scarcely give any adequate idea — for of letters 
and notes it might really be said that 

" Each minute teems a new one "— 
made it absolutely impossible for her to keep up the 
conventional forms and etiquettes of an extensive 
general acquaintance. Nothing could be further 
from her nature than ungraciousness or incivility ; 
yet, from circumstances quite beyond her own con- 
trol, for which few were disposed to make sufficient 
allowances, she often incurred the charge of both, 
through an utter want both of leisure and physical 



154 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

energy, to cope with all the bewildering claims upon 
her attention. 

A few extracts from notes written soon after her 
establishment at Wavertree, will best express her 
own views and feelings. 

" I have no taste, no health, for the enjoyment of 
extensive society. I have been all my life a creature 
of hearth and home, and now that ' the mother that 
looked on my childhood' is gone, and that my bro- 
thers and sisters are scattered far and wide, I have 
no wish, but to gather around me the few friends 
who will love me and enter into my pursuits. I wish 
I could give you the least idea of what kindness is 
to me — how much more, how far dearer than Fame. 
I trust we may pass many pleasant evenings together 
this winter at my little dwelling, which I hope to see 
often cheered and lit up by happy and familiar faces." 



" Generally speaking, I cannot tell you how pain- 
ful going out is to me now. I know it is a weakness 
which I must conquer, but I feel so alone, so unpro- 
tected, and this weary celebrity makes such things, 
I believe, press the more bitterly." 



" I can well imagine the weariness and disgust 
with which a mind of intellectual tastes must be op- 
pressed by the long days of ' work-day world ' cares, so 
utterly at variance with such tastes ; and yet, perhaps, 
the opposite extreme is scarcely more to be desired. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 155 

Mine, I believe, has been too much a life of thought 
and feeling for health and peace. I can certainly 
quit this little world of my own for active duties ; 
for, however I may at times playfully advocate the 
cause of weakness, there is no one who has, with 
deeper need for strength, a fuller conviction of its 
necessity ; but it is often by an effort, and a painful 
one, that I am enabled to obtain it." 



The following letters will equally speak for them- 
selves : — 

" Nov. 10th, 1828. 
" My dear Miss Mitford, 

" Accept my late, though sincere and cordial 
congratulations on the brilliant success of JRienzi, 
of which I have read with unfeigned gratification. 
I thought of your father and mother, and could not 
help imagining that your feelings must be like those 
of the Greek general, who declared that his greatest 
delight in victory arose from the thought of his pa- 
rents. I have no doubt that your enjoyment of your 
triumph has been of a similar nature. I ought to 
have acknowledged long, long since, your kind pre- 
sent of the little volume of plays, valued both for 
your sake and theirs, for they are indeed full of 
beauty; but I have been a drooping creature for 
months, — ill, and suffering much from the dispersion 
of a little band of brothers and sisters, among whom 
I had lived, and who are now all scattered; and, 



156 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

strange as it may seem to say, I am now, for the first 
time in my life, holding the reins of government, in- 
dependent, managing a household myself; and I 
never liked anything less than ' ce triste empire de 
soi-meme' It really suits me as ill as the southron 
climate did your wild Orkney school-girls, whom 
perhaps you, the creator of so many fair forms and 
images, may have forgotten, but I have not. I have 
changed my residence since I last wrote to you, and 
my address is now at Wavertree, near Liverpool, 
where I shall, as the Welsh country-people say, 
6 take it very kind 5 if you write to me ; and I really 
cannot help venturing to hope that you will. I have 
yet only read of Rienzi a few noble passages given 
by the newspapers and magazines, but in a few days 
I hope to be acquainted with the whole. Every 
woman ought to be proud of your triumph — in this 
age, too, when dramatic triumph seems of all others 
the most difficult. How are May, and Mossy, and 
Lucy, and Jack Hatch? — no, Jack Hatch actually 
died, to the astonishment of myself and my boys, 
who thought, I believe, he had been < painted for 
eternity' — and Mrs Allen, and the rest of the dear 
villagers ? I trust they are well. Your mother, I 
believe, is always an invalid, but I hope she is able 
fully to enjoy the success of her daughter, as only a 
mother can enjoy it. How hollow sounds the voice 
of Fame to an orphan.* Farewell, my dear Miss 

* In one of Mrs Hemans's MS. books is an extract from 
Richter, of which she must have felt the full force. " O thou 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 157 

Mitford — long may you have the delight of gladden- 
ing a father and mother !" 

" Wavertree, Dec. Uth, 1828. 

u My dear Mrs Howitt, 

u You will not, I trust, have thought me very 
ungrateful for your delightful letter, though it has 
been left so long unanswered. I am sure I shall 
give your heart greater pleasure by writing now, 
than I could have done by an immediate reply ; for 
I had suffered so deeply, so much more than I had 
imagined possible, from leaving Wales, and many 
kind and 6 old familiar faces' there, as well as from 
the breaking up of my family on the occasion of my 
sister's marriage, that my spirits were, long after my 
arrival here, overshadowed by constant depression. 
My health, also, had been much affected by mental 
struggles, and I thought within myself, < I will not 
write what I know will only sadden so kind a heart ; 
I will wait till the sunshine breaks in.' And now, I 
can tell you that it begins to dawn ; for my health 
and spirits are decidedly improving, and I am recon- 
ciling myself to many things in my changed situa- 
tion, which, at first, pressed upon my heart with all 
the weight of a Switzer's home sickness. Among 
these, is the want of hills. Oh ! this waveless hori- 
zon ! — how it wearies the eye accustomed to the 

who hast still a father and a mother, thank God for it in the 
day when thy soul is full of joyful tears, and needs a bosom 
whereon to shed them i" 



158 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS, 

sweeping outline of mountain scenery ! I would 
wish that there were, at least, woodlands, like those 
so delightfully pictured in your husband's Chapter 
on Woods, to supply their place ; but it is a dull, 
uninventive nature all around here, though there 
must be somewhere little fairy nooks, w T hich I hope, 
by degrees, to discover. I must recur to the before- 
mentioned Chapter, it delighted me so particularly by 
the freshness of its spirit, deep feeling, and minute 
observation of nature. c The fading of the leaf, 
which ought rather to be called the kindling of the 
leaf,' — how truly and how poetically was that said ! 
That I might become better acquainted with his 
writings, I have lately borrowed some volumes of 
Time's Telescope, in which I believed I could not 
fail to discover the same characteristics ; and I an- 
ticipate much enjoyment from The Booh of the Sea- 
sons, which, I am sure, will be a rich treasury of 
natural imagery and pure feeling.* 

" I hear, with great pleasure, my dear friend, that 
the place of your lost one is to be supplied, < the 

* In this anticipation she was not disappointed ; for she 
wrote of it two years after as " a little book which has quite 
charmed me. Do you know," she continued, " I think that 
the rumours of political strife and convulsion now ringing 
round us on all sides, make the spirit lon| more intensely for 
the freshness, and purity, and stillness of nature, and take 
deeper delight in everything that recalls these lovely images. 
I am sure I shall forget all sadness, and feel as happy as a child 
or a fawn, when I can be free again amongst hills and woods. 
I long for them ■ as the hart for the water brooks.' " 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 159 

hollow of his absence' filled up. All the kindly 
wishes of a woman's and a mother's heart attend you 
on the occasion ! 

ip W v 'P 3t? 

" I trust your dear little girl is well. Has she 
quite forgotten ' Felicia Hemans ?' I cannot tell 
you with how much pleasure I read your praises in 
the Nodes Ambrosiance. They were bestowed, too, 
in language so delicate and appropriate, that I think 
you must have felt gratified, especially as you have 
one to gratify by your success." 

A remarkable instance of Mrs Hemans's powers 
of memory, is recorded about this time, in the fact 
of her having repeated, and even written down, with 
extraordinary accuracy, the beautiful stanzas ad- 
dressed by Lord Byron to his sister, after hearing 
them only twice read aloud in manuscript. 

A few extracts, bearing more particularly on lite- 
rary subjects, will give some idea of her predomi- 
nant tastes at this period. 

" I send Herder's beautiful ballads of The Cid y 
and I wish you may take as much pleasure as I have 
always done in their proud clarion music. I often 
think what a dull, faded thing life — such life as we 
lead in this later age — would appear to one of those 
fiery knights of old.* Only imagine my Cid, spurring 
the good steed Bavieca through the streets of Liver- 
pool, or coming to pass an evening with me at 
Wavertree !" 



160 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" I owe you many thanks for so kindly introduc- 
ing me to all those noble thoughts of Richter's. I 
think the vision in the church magnificent both in 
purpose and conception : it is scarcely possible to 
stop for the contemplation of occasional extrava- 
gances, when borne along so rapidly and triumph- 
antly, as by ' a mighty rushing wind,' some of the 
detached thoughts are so exquisite." 

j&. jfe j£& 2kt jfe 

^f ^r *3f? if. '?je 

" Now, let me introduce you to a dear friend of 
mine, Tieck's Sternbald, in whose Wanderungen, 
which I now send — if you know them not already — 
I cannot but hope that you will take almost as much 
delight as I have done amidst my own free hills and 
streams, where his favourite book has again and 
again been my companion." 



" We have been talking much of French poetry 

lately. Do you know the Dernier Chant de Co- 

rinne f I sent it, marked in the third volume of the 

book, and you shall have the others if you wish. If 

the soul, without the form, be enough to constitute 

poetry, then it surely is poetry of the very highest 

order. 

***** 

" That book (Corinne)> in particular towards its 
close, has a power over me which is quite indescrib- 
able. Some passages seem to give me back my own 
thoughts and feelings, my whole inner being, with a 
mirror more true than ever friend could hold up " 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 161 

" How very beautiful are those letters of Lord Col- 
lingwood to his family ! — there is something in all 
those thoughts of hearth and home, and of the garden 
trees and of the i old summer-seat/ which, breathing 
as they do from amidst the far and lonely seas, affect 
us like an exile's song of his fatherland. The letters 
to his wife brought strongly to my mind the poor 
Queen of Prussia's joyous exclamations in the midst 
of her last sufferings — ' Oh ! how blessed is she who 
receives such a letter as this !' " 



" I send my copy of Iphigenia, because I shall 
like to know whether you are as much struck with 
all that I have marked in it as I have been. Do you 
remember all we were saying on the obscurity of 
female suffering in such stormy days of the lance 
and spear, as the good Fray Agapida describes so 
vividly ? Has not Goethe beautifully developed the 
idea in the lines which I inclose ? They occur in 
Iphigenia's supplication to Thoas for her brother." 

" I have been delighted with the paper on Burns,* 

which you were kind enough to lend me. I think 

that the writer has gone further into < the heart of 

the mystery' than any other, because he, almost the 

first of all, has approached the subject with a deep 

reverence for genius, but a still deeper for truth : 

all the rest have seemed only anxious to make good 

the attack or the defence. And there is a feeling, 

too, of ' the still sad music of humanity' through - 

* That by Carlyle in the Edinburgh Review. 
I. L 



1 62 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

out. which bears upon the heart a conviction full of 
power, that it is listening to the voice of a brother. 
I wonder who the writer is : he certainly gives us a 
great deal of what Bos well, I think, calls c bark and 
steel for the mind.' I, at least, found it in several 
passages ; but I fear that a woman s mind never can 
be able, and never was formed to attain that power 
of sufficiency to itself, which seems to lie somewhere 
or other amongst the rocks of a man's." 



" I send you the Moravian air ; and this is the 
old Swedish tradition of which I was speaking to 
you last night. There is a dark lake somewhere 
among the Swedish mountains, and in the lake there 
is an island of pines, and on the island an old castle, 
and there is a spirit-keeper, who lives far down in 
the lake, and when any evil is going to befall the 
inhabitants of the castle, he rises to the surface, and 
plays a most mournful ditty on his shadowy harp, 
and they know that it is a music of warning. I met 
with it in Olaus Magnus — such a strange wild 
book!" 



" Did it ever strike you how much lighter sor- 
row's s pining cares' become, out in the free air, and 
under the blue sky, than ' beneath a smoky roof,' as 
the sea-kings of old used to say ? For my part, I am 
never the least surprised to hear of people becoming 
fascinated with Indian life, and giving up all our 
boasted refinements for the range of the tameless 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 163 

forests. This reminds me of some American books, 
which I send you ; in one of them, New England's 
Memorial, I wish to call your attention to the beau- 
tiful map at the beginning, with all those gallant 
ships, and groups of armed men, and wolves and 
bears wandering about, to express, I suppose, the 
dangers which the pilgrim fathers so bravely en- 
countered. The other, Mademoiselle HiedeseVs Me- 
moirs, I send for Mrs C, whom, I think, it will 
interest : the heroine goes through many trials, but, 
sustained as she is by c the strong affection which 
overcometh all things/ who can look upon her with 
pity?" 



" I am quite surprised at your liking my ' Storm- 
Painter' so much: as an expression of strong and 
perturbed feeling, I could not satisfy myself with it 
in the least ; — it seemed all done in pale water- 
colours" 



" Will you tell your brother, I regretted, after 
you and he had left me the other evening, that, in- 
stead of Werner's Luther, which I do not think will 
interest him much, I had not lent him one of my 
greatest favourites, Grillparzer's Sappho. I there- 
fore send it him now. It is, in my opinion, full of 
beauty, which I am sure he will appreciate, and of 
truth, developing itself clearly and sorrowfully through 
the colouring mists of imagination." 



164 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" I have been thinking much of the German scenes 
for translation, respecting which you paid me the 
compliment of wishing for my opinion. The inter- 
view between Philip the Second and Posa* is cer- 
tainly very powerful, but to me its interest is always 
destroyed by a sense of utter impossibility, which 
haunts me throughout. Not even Schiller's mighty 
spells can, I think, win the most ' unquestioning 
spirit ' to suppose that such a voice of truth and free- 
dom could have been lifted up, and endured, in the 
presence of the cold, stern Philip the Second — that 
he would, even for a moment, have listened to the 
language thus fearlessly bursting from a noble heart. 
Three of the most impressive scenes towards the 
close of the play, might, I think, be linked together, 
leaving out the intervening ones, with much effect ; 
— the one in which Carlos, standing by the body of 
his friend, forces his father to the contemplation of 
the dead : the one in which the king comes forward, 
with his fearful, dreamy remorse, alone amidst his 
court, 

Gieb diesen todten mir heraus, &fc. f 

and the subsequent interview between Philip and 
the Grand Inquisitor, in which the whole spirit of 
those fanatic days seems embodied. 

" There is a scene in one of Oehlenschlager's dramas, 
Der Hirtenknabe, J which has always affected me 

* In Schiller's Don Carlos. 

f " Give me this dead one back." 

t The Shepherd Boy. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 165 

strongly. It has also the recommendation of telling 
its own tale at once, without need of any prelimina- 
ries. An aged priest wishes by degrees, and with 
tenderness, to reveal to a father the death of his 
only child. The father, represented as a bold and 
joyous character, full of hope, and strength, and 
muth des lebens, * attributes all the ' dark say- 
ings,' and mournful allusions of his visitant, to the 
natural despondency of age, and attempts to cheer 
him by descriptions of his bright domestic happiness. 
" Starke dich," he says, " in meinen sonnenschein /"f 
The very exultation of his spirit makes you tremble 
for him, and feel that fate is approaching : at last, 
the old man uncovers the body of the child, and then 
the passionate burst of the father's grief is indeed 
overpowering : — then the mother enters, and even 
amidst all her anguish, the meekness of a more sub- 
dued and chastened being is felt, and beautifully con- 
trasted with her husband's despair. 

"In Goethe's Egmonty the scenes in which Clarchen 
endeavours to rouse the spirit of the bewildered citi- 
zens, and in which Brackenburg communicates to 
her the preparations for Egmont's execution, seem 
to stand out from the rest in the bold relief of their 
power and passion ; and the interview between Eg- 
mont in prison and Ferdinand, the son of his enemy, 
who soothes even the anguish of those moments by 
the free-will offering of his young heart's affection 

* Spirit of life. 

t Strengthen thyself in my sunshine. 



166 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

and reverence, I have always thought most deeply 
touching." 



It may here not be out of place to introduce a few 
recollections regarding Mrs Hemans's progressive 
tastes, supplied by the friend already described, as 
having been for so many years her indefatigable li- 
terary purveyor. 

" My book heckifications in the days of old were 
multifarious enough; in English, French, German, 
Italian, and Spanish poetry; or prose (not prosy 
prose), grave or gay, lively or severe, history or fic- 
tion (the history chiefly of feudal ages), essay or 
criticism ; only nothing in the service of science ever 
found a place in them.* At a later period, during 
her Wavertree residence, I was often struck with 
the change of her tastes, which then seemed to have 
retreated from the outer world, and devoted them- 

* All the works of Sismondi, particularly the Litterature du 
Midi, and Repuhliques Italiennes, held a high place in her esti- 
mation ; perhaps she prized them all the more from their ha- 
ving been especial favourites of her mother. Fauriel's Chants 
Populaires de la Grece Moderne, opened out to her a world of 
new ideas and feelings, and suggested, as the books she loved 
always did, some of her sweetest lyrics. 

Amongst the old household favourites, none was more po- 
pular than the Narrative of a Ten Years* Residence in Tripoli, 
by the sister-in-law of Mr Tully ; and in one of Mrs He- 
mans's letters, she says — '* What will you think of our wanting 
to borrow, for the sixth time, the dear old letters from Tri- 
poli ? " 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 167 

selves exclusively to the passionate and imaginative. 
The German poets were always on her table, espe- 
cially Goethe. Wordsworth was ever growing in 
her favour, yet I think at that time she oftener 
quoted Byron, Shelley, and Madame de Stael, than 
any other. This was aliment too stimulating for an 
organization that so much needed more sedative 
influences — and while her poetry at that period was 
deeper, tenderer, more touching than ever, it was 
like the pelican's heart-blood, poured forth (if natu- 
ralists would let these pretty stories pass) to feed her 
brood." 

One of the peculiar features of the increased sen- 
sitiveness of her temperament at this time, was an 
awakened enthusiasm for music, which amounted to 
an absolute passion. " I do not think," she wrote, 
"that I can bear the burthen of my life without 
music for more than two or three days." Yet, with 
sensibilities so exquisite as hers, this melomania was 
a source of far more pain than pleasure ; it was so 
impossible for any earthly strains to approach that 
ideal and unattainable standard of perfection which 
existed within her mind, and which she has shadowed 
forth with a mournful energy in " Mozart's Requiem." 

Like perfumes on the wind, 

Which none may stay or bind, 
The beautiful comes rushing through my soul ; 

I strive, with yearnings vain, 

The spirit to detain, 
Of the deep harmonies that past me roll. 



168 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

Therefore disturbing dreams 

Trouble the secret streams 
And founts of music that o'erflow my breast ; 

Something far more divine 

Than may on earth be mine, 
Haunts my worn heart, and will not let me rest. 

From time to time, however, she had enjoyment 
of music of a very high character, for much of which 
she was indebted to her acquaintance with Mr 
Lodge, the distinguished amateur, by whom so many 
of her songs have been set to melodies of infinite 
beauty and feeling. At a somewhat later period she 
derived much delight from the talents of Mr James 
Zengheer Herrmann, from whom, for a time, she 
took lessons, for the express purpose of studying, 
and fully understanding, the Stabat Mater of 
Pergolesi, which had taken an extraordinary hold of 
her imagination. This fine composition was first 
brought to her notice by Mr Lodge, to whom she 
thus expressed her appreciation of it : — " It is quite 
imposssible for me to tell you the impression I have 
received from that most spiritual music of Pergo- 
lesi's, which really haunted me the whole night. 
How much I have to thank you for introducing me, 
in such a manner, to so new and glorious a world of 
musical thought and feeling !" 

And she wrote of it again, some time after, with no 
less deep a feeling. " I am learning Pergolesi's 
Stabat Mater, which realizes all that I could 
dream of religious music, and which derives addi- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 169 

tional interest from its being the last work in which 
the master-spirit breathed forth its enthusiasm." 

The state of her health had long obliged her to 
discontinue the practice of her harp, but the same 
friend whose recollections have been already quoted 
from, recals a singular instance of sudden and tran- 
sient return to it. " I remember," she writes, " her 
stringing and tuning it one day, just after she set- 
tled at Wavertree, and pouring forth a full tide of 
music all without notes, and with as much facility of 
execution as if she had had the instrument daily 
under her hand for years. Having listened and 
wondered for about half an hour, I said, ' Really, 
Felicia, it seems to me that there is something not 
quite canny in this ; so, especially as it is beginning 
to be twilight, I shall think it prudent to take my 
departure. 5 The harp, however, required more 
physical exertion than she could well afford, and it 
soon fell into neglect again." 

The " brightly associated hours " she passed with 
Mrs Lawrence, have been alluded to by Mrs Hemans, 
in the dedication to the National Lyrics, and re- 
corded by " her friend, and the sister of her friend, 
Colonel D'Aguilar," in her own affectionate Recol- 
lections. The " Books and Flowers " of Wavertree 
Hall, were ever fondly identified with their dear 
mistress, and years after the enjoyment of them had 
passed away from all senses but memory, she who 
was then herself, too, " passing away," thus tenderly 
alluded to them from her sick couch at Redesdale 



170 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" When I write to you, my imagination always 
brightens, and pleasant thoughts of lovely flowers, 
and dear old books, and strains of antique Italian 
melody, come floating over me, as Bacon says, the 
rich scents go 6 to and fro like music in the air.' " 

The reviving influences of these intellectual en- 
joyments were, however, but too powerfully counter- 
balanced by the constant pressure of inward sorrows, 
and daily anxieties. The experience of a first 
winter, moreover, occasioned Mrs Hemans many 
misgivings as to the healthiness of her new resi- 
dence ; and the illness of her three boys, who were 
seized with the hooping-cough, very soon after their 
establishment at Wavertree, was anything but an 
encouraging inauguration to one so new to the cares 
of household management. The fatigue she en- 
dured in nursing them, was far more than she was 
equal to ; and at length it proved, by way of climax, 
that she had actually caught this harassing and 
tedious complaint herself. Change of air was, of 
course, recommended ; and early in the spring, the 
whole party of invalids repaired for a short time to 
Seacombe, a small bathing-place on the Cheshire 
side of the Mersey. Here they speedily derived all 
the benefits anticipated from the sea air ; and the 
cheerful tone of some of the following extracts, ex- 
hibits once more the naturally elastic spirits of the 
writer. 

" You will rejoice to hear that we are going 
on extremely well, and are able to be out a great 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 1/1 

deal. It is very strange to me to be here. You 
know how rapidly my thoughts and feelings chase 
each other, like shadows of clouds over the moun- 
tains ; sometimes I feel quite forlorn — at others, 
and those, I think, the most frequent, enjoying 
with child-like pleasure, the moving picture of the 
waters, the thousand sails and streamers glancing 
and gleaming past ' like things of life.' I can hardly 
leave this animated sea-beach, when once I have 
reached it ; and at this distance 

' The city's voice itself 
Is soft as Solitude's.' " 



" The boys and I passed a most comic yesterday, 
sitting in a sort of verdant twilight, as we were 
obliged to have the outworks of green blinds fasten- 
ed over the windows, to keep them from blowing in. 
Then the wind kept lifting the knocker, and per- 
forming such human knocks all day, that we thought 
friends must be coming to see us in the shape of 
meteoric stones — for certainly in no other could they 
have approached us. However, Charles cut out and 
painted what he pleases to call the Weird Sisters 
from Macbeth ; and Henry set to music ' The 
Homes of England,' in a style only to be paralleled 
by Charles's painting ; and I read The Robbers ; 
and the knocks at the door were thought so full of 
happy humour, that they made us laugh aux eclats, 9 



" Last Sunday I visited a very interesting scene — 



172 MEMOIR OF MRS HEM AN S. 

the Mariners' Church, on the Liverpool side of the 
water. It is the hulk of a ship of war, now fitted 
up for divine service, which is performed by Mr 
Scoresby. The earnest attention of the hardy, 
weather-beaten countenances, all steadfastly fixed 
upon the preacher, connected with the images of 
past danger by flood and fire, which such a scene 
would naturally call up — these things were very 
deeply impressive, and I am glad to have borne away 
a recollection of them. I had a good deal of con- 
versation with Mr Scoresby, in the vestry (the 
ci-devant powder- room, I suppose) of his church, 

" We are very dissipated indeed, as far as receiving 
visitors can make us so, for we have only been alone 
two evenings since we came here. Our guests, to 
be sure, are obliged to depart at most patriarchal 
hours, having to set off with the speed of Harold 
Harefoot, at eight o'clock in the evening, in order to 
be in time for the steam-boat which is to convey 
them back, and which they do not always overtake. 
Charlie's despatch, which I have left open for your 
amusement, will, I think, rather entertain you. His 
consternation on seeing the advertisement of the rival 
work on Dogs, was most comic. I am thankful to 
say that he looks better, and can now take exercise 
again without ' sick knees' " 



" I really know nothing that so tempts one into 
idleness as a beach like this, with all its gay pictures. 
I am sure you will rejoice that I am able to derive 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 173 

so much pleasure from it, and to be out a good deal 
in the open air, after the long weary confinement of 
the winter. I shall quite regret leaving Seacombe ; 
the broad river between me and Liverpool, gives 
me so comfortable a feeling of security in the morn- 
ing ; and in the evening, those whom I really like to 
see think nothing of crossing it to visit me. 

" I meet with so many offers of service, that the 
boys sometimes laugh and say, ' Mamma, you are 
like the young lady who could not dance with the 
King of Prussia, because she was engaged to the 
Emperor of Russia.'* Yesterday I had an Ameri- 
can gentleman here, introduced by Mr Norton, a 
clergyman of Boston, very mild and pleasing, with a 
highly intellectual countenance. Do you know he 
had never seen a primrose, and upon my desiring 
Charles to bring me some from the hedges, as we 
were walking down to the beach, he asked if that 
was the flower so often celebrated by English poets. 

" Mr Blackwood has just sent me a delightful 
book by one of his contributors, Miss Bowles ; it is 
published without her name, and only called Chap- 
ters on Churchyards, Pray read the work : I know 
you will enjoy its depth of feeling and playfulness of 

wit I must return home next Monday, 

having now been here a month. I certainly have 
derived benefit from the change, and Charlie, about 

* This actually happened to the burgomaster's daughter at 
Berlin, on the occasion of a ball given by the municipal autho- 
rities of that city, to the Emperor Alexander. 



174 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAXS. 

whom I was getting very anxious, is wonderfully 
improved ; able to be out almost all day, and coming 
in with a bright, clear, brown complexion, instead of 
the sickly transparency it had begun to assume." 



The following extracts, from letters written in a 
far different and deeper tone, will need no comment, 
excepting the explanation that they were severally 
addressed to the two friends to whom she was most 
wont to lay open her heart, in all its strength and 
weakness : — 

" You speak c high words ' to me, dear friend ! I 
gratefully feel them, and own their power. They 
remind me of Wordsworth's beautiful expression — 

* To teach us how divine a thing 
A woman may be made.' 

And I, too, have high views, doubt it not. My very 
suffering proves it — for how much of this is occa- 
sioned by quenchless aspirations after intellectual 
and moral beauty, never to be found on earth ! they 
seem to sever me from others, and make my lot more 
lonely than life has made it. Can you think that any 
fervent and aspiring mind ever passed through this 
world without suffering from that void which has 
been the complaint of all ? c Les ames dont l'imagi- 
nation tient a la puissance d'aimer et de souffrir, ne 
sont-ils pas les bannis d'une autre region ?' I know 
that it must be so ; that nothing earthly can fill it, 
and that it cannot be filled with the infinite, until 
infinity shall have opened upon it : — for these in- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 175 

tense affections are human : they were given us to 
meet and answer human love ; and though they may 
be c raised and solemnized' even here, yet I do be- 
lieve that it is only in the ' Better Land' they ever 
did, or will approximate to what is divine. Fear 
not any danger for me in the adulation which sur- 
rounds me. A moment's transient entertainment — 
scarcely even that at times, is the utmost effect of 
things that ' come like shadows, so depart.' Of all 
things, never may I become that despicable thing, a 
woman living upon admiration ! The village matron, 
tidying up for her husband and children at evening, 
is far, far more enviable and respectable." 



" Why should you try to wean yourself from me, 
my dear friend, because our paths are divided, and 
because the burthen of fragile health and over-occu- 
pation laid upon me, prevents my giving more time 
in return for all your affectionate anxiety. Be as- 
sured that, in the midst of constant excitement, 
homage, ideal wanderings, and real cares, which so 
strangely ' weave the warp and weave the woof ' of 
my * mystic thread of life,' my heart is ever true to 
the past — a heart of home, though no home be for 
it here ; and never to forget all your love and care 
for me and mine. So think of me still, and often as 
ever, and in some points (strangely as I am placed, 
and surrounded with things that might, I frankly 
confess, a little turn my head, but for the deep re- 
membrances of my heart) think of me with less anx- 



176 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

iety ; for I do feel, notwithstanding all this, my mind 
in a more healthful state, and more open to happy 
influences than it has been — the fever of the mental 
nerves is subsiding." 



" ' Safe in the grave?-— -what deep meaning there 
is in those words, and how often does the feeling 
they convey come over me amidst the varied excite- 
ments of my strange, unconnected life ! How I look 
back upon the comparative peace and repose of 
Bronwylfa and Rhyllon — a walk in the hay-field — 
the children playing round me — my dear mother 
coming to call me in from the dew — and you, perhaps, 
making your appearance just in the ' gloaming,' 
with a great bunch of flowers in your kind hand ! 
How have these things passed away from me, and 
how much more was I formed for their quiet happi- 
ness, than for the weary part of femme celebre, 
which I am now enacting ! But my heart is with 
those home enjoyments, and there, however tried, 
excited, and wrung, it will ever remain." 



In the month of July, 1829, Mrs Hemans was 
prevailed upon to make the very unwonted exertion 
of undertaking a journey, or rather a voyage, to 
Scotland. To this she had a thousand inducements, in 
the attractive invitations continually pressed upon her 
by her friends and admirers in that hospitable coun- 
try, where her name had long enjoyed an extraordi- 
nary degree of popularity, mingled with strong and 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 177 

affectionate personal interest. She had, for some 
time, numbered amongst her most valued correspon- 
dents, Mr Hamilton, the accomplished author of Cyril 
Thornton, then residing with his lady at Chiefs- 
wood, near Abbotsford ; and the visit they had for 
many months been kindly urging her to make them, 
with the peculiar allurements it held out, was the 
primary object of what, to a person of her usually 
quiescent habits, was somewhat of an adventurous 
enterprise. 

" Now, I am going to excite a sensation," wrote 
she, in announcing this wonderful project to her 
friend at St Asaph — " I am actually about to visit 
Scotland — going to Mr Hamilton's at Chiefswood. 
Charles has been longing to communicate the im- 
portant intelligence, as he and Henry are to accom- 
pany me ; but I could not possibly afford the pleasure 
of the surprise to any one but myself. And you are 
about as much surprised at this moment, I am sure, 
as if I had written you word I was going to the 
North Pole. The cause of this marvellous exertion 
on my part, is, that Mr and Mrs Hamilton are going 
to Italy in the autumn, and are very anxious that I 
should visit Scotland before they set out. Alto- 
gether, I thought the occasion quite worthy of rous- 
ing my energies." 

In her first letter from Chiefswood, Mrs Hemans 
speaks of having had a good deal of illness on the 
road, visiting her chiefly in the form of faintness 
and violent beating of the heart ; " but I do not 

T. M 



178 MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS. 

feel," she continues, " as if my general health would 
be at all the worse for the journey, as I have had 
very refreshing sleep since I reached this still and 
lovely place." 

The next affords a proof of that rapid accession of 
vigour and energy, which, under happy and kindly 
influences, was yet a characteristic of her buoyant 
temperament. 

" You will be pleased to think of me, as I now 
am, in constant, almost daily, intercourse with Sir 
Walter Scott, who has greeted me to this mountain 
land in the kindest manner, and with whom I talk 
freely and happily, as to an old familiar friend. I 
have taken several long walks with him over moor and 
brae, and it is indeed delightful to see him thus, 
and to hear him pour forth, from the fulness of his 
rich mind and peopled memory, song, and legend, 
and tale of old, until I could almost fancy I heard 
the gathering-cry of some chieftain of the hills, so 
completely does his spirit carry me back to the days 
of the slogan and the fire-cross. The other day, he 
most kindly made a party to take me to the banks of 
Yarrow, about ten miles from hence. I went with 
him in an open carriage. We forded Ettrick river, 
passed Carterhaugh (the scene of the wild fairy 
legend of < Tarn o ? Linn'), and many a cairn and field 
of old combat, the heroes of which seemed to start 
up before me, in answer to the ' mighty master's* 
voice, which related their deeds as we went by. 
And he is, indeed, a fitting narrator : his whole 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEM AN S. 179 

countenance — the predominant expression of which 
is generally a sort of arch benevolence — changes at 
the slightest allusion to any 6 bold emprize.' It is 

* As the stream late conceal'd 
By the fringe of its willows, 
When it flashes, revealM 
In the light of its billows ;' 

or like the war-horse at the sound of the trumpet. 
Sometimes, in reciting a verse of old martial song, 
he will suddenly spring up, and one feels ready to 
exclaim — 

' Charge, Chester, charge! — on, Stanley, on!' 

so completely is the electric chain struck by his 
own high emotion. But Yarrow ! beautiful Yarrow! 
we wound along its banks, through some stately 
grounds belonging to the Duke of Buccleuch ; and 
was it not like a dream to be walking there with Sir 
Walter Scott by my side, reciting, every now and 
then, some verse of the fine old ballad ? We visited 
Newark Tower, and returned to Abb otsf or d through 
the Tweed. The rest of the day was passed at that 
glorious place, the hall of which, in particular, is a 
scene to dream of, with the rich, purple light stream- 
ing in through its coloured windows, and mantling 
its stately suits of armour and heraldic blazonries. 
We had a great deal of music in the evening — Sir 
Walter is particularly fond of national airs — and I 
played many of my waltzes, and mazurkas, and 
Spanish melodies, for which I wish you could have 



180 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAA T S. 

heard how kindly and gracefully he thanked me.* 
I am fortunate in seeing him, as I do, surrounded 
only by his children and grandchildren, wandering 
through his own woods, taking the fresh delight of 
an unquenchably youthful spirit in the creations of 
his own hands. It is all so healthful to see and feel ! 
The boys, too, are quite at home with him, and he 
sometimes sings to Charlie — 

' Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling, 
Charlie is my darling, the young Chevalier. ' j* 

u We are going to Abbotsford on Saturday, to 
pass some days, and then I return to Edinburgh. 

***** 

" I have said nothing of the Dominie — even the 
original Dominie Sampson, with whom I have lately 
become acquainted — nor of my American friends, 
the Wares, who dined at Chiefswood the other day 
(I having been introduced to Mrs Ware on the very 
pinnacle of Melrose Abbey, by moonlight) — nor of 
Mr Hamilton himself, whose mind developes so de- 

* His words, treasured up by her boys, were, — " I should 
say you had too many gifts, Mrs Hemans, were they not all 
made to give pleasure to those around you." 

"f One day, when he had taken them both out to walk with 
him, they were so emboldened by his condescending good- 
nature, that one of them, thinking it an excellent opportunity 
to settle a question which he had often heard speculated upon 
at home, daringly inquired — " Sir Walter, what did you mean 
by those two lines in 7 he Lady of the Lake — 

• Fox-glove and nightshade, side by side, 
Emblems of punishment and pride ?* 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 181 

lightfully — but all these will be amongst the bright 
recollections I shall bring away with me." 

A few days later Mrs Hemans wrote : — tl I have 
now had the gratification of seeing Sir Walter in 
every point of view I could desire : we had one of 
the French princes here yesterday, with his suite — 
the Due de Chartres, son of the Due d' Orleans, 
and there was naturally some little excitement dif- 
fused through the household by the arrival of a 
royal guest. Sir Walter was, however, exactly the 
same, in his own manly simplicity — kind, courteous, 
unaffected — ' his foot upon his native heath;' 
and his attention even to Henry and Charles, and 
their little indulgencies, considerate and watchful as 
ever. I must say a few words of the duke, who 
is a very elegant young man, possessing a finished 
and really noble grace of manner, which conveys at 
once the idea of Sir Philip Sidney's high thoughts, 
seated 6 in a heart of courtesy,' and which one likes 
to consider as an appanage of royal blood. I was a 
little nervous when Sir Walter handed me to the 

Mamma has always been dying to know, and aunt Harriett 
has been puzzling about it all her life." 

" Why, my dear little fellow," answered the benignant 
bard, " I can only hope when you write poetry, that you will 
make much better sense of it ; for those emblems, in fact, are 
very bad ones. I merely chose the fox-glove to exemplify 
pride, from its being so tall and stately ; and nightshade, you 
know, is poisonous, and so might be made the means of punish- 
ment ; but I believe hemlock would have been more to the 
purpose." 



182 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

piano, on which I was the sole performer, for the 
delectation of the courtly party." 

One of the things which particularly struck her 
imagination, amongst the thousand relics at Abbots- 
ford, was the " sad, fearful picture of Queen Mary 
in the dining-room." * And " Oh ! the bright swords !" 
— she breaks forth in one of her letters — " I must 
not forget to tell you how I sat, like Minna in The 
Pirate (though she stood or moved, I believe), the 
very t queen of swords.' I have the strongest love 
for the flash of glittering steel — and Sir Walter 
brought out I know not how many gallant blades to 
show me ; one which had fought at Kiiliecrankie, and 
one which had belonged to the young Prince Henry, 
James the First's son, and one which looked of as 
noble race and temper as that with which Coeur de 
Lion severed the block of steel in Saladin's tent." 

This visit to Abbotsford was a bright passage in 
her life, never referred to without a rekindling of 
chivalrous and affectionate enthusiasm. She had 
contemplated recording her recollections of it in the 
little volume of prose sketches already alluded to, as 
one of the many projects she was not permitted to 
accomplish. With this view, she wrote down the 
slight notes which follow (and which have never 
been hitherto in any way made use of), intending to 
amplify them at some future opportunity. 

* Fearful, indeed — representing her head in a charger, like 
John the Baptist's ; and painted the day after lier execution at 
Fotheringay, by Amias Canrood. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 183 

"July, 1829 — I walked with Sir Walter Scott 
through the Rhjmour's Glen. He showed me the 
site of a little hamlet, which had been deserted on 
account of the supposed visits of a spirit. He de- 
scribed to me some extraordinary cavern scenes he 
had explored in his voyage round the northern 
coasts and isles of Scotland ; mentioned his having 
sometimes heard the low, rolling murmur of storms 
in the air along those dreary coasts, for hours before 
the bursting of the tempest ; told me of a friend of 
his, a man of by no means an imaginative mind, 
who had heard the Wild Huntsman in the air at 
night, at Valenciennes. So persuaded was this gen- 
tlemen that a real chase was sweeping past him 
through the streets, that he turned aside into the 
porch of a church in order to make way for it. 
Nothing, however, was visible ; and he at last be- 
came affected with feelings of supernatural fear. 
On mentioning the circumstance to the people with 
whom he lodged, they were much awe-struck, and 
told him it was fortunate that, heretic as he was, he 
had sheltered within the shadow of a Catholic church. 
Sir Walter repeated, with much animation, part of 
the Spanish ballad of 'Dragut' — (see Lockhart's 
Collection) — 

' Row, row, my slaves, quoth Dragut, * &c. 

" He gave me a thrilling description of a scene 
which had been witnessed by a friend of his at 
Ehrenbreitstein — the German army of liberators 
crossing the Rhine after their victories. Upon the 



184 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

first gleam of the noble river, they burst forth into 
the song of < Am Rhein, am Rhein ! ' They were 
two days crossing, during which the rock and the 
castle rang out to the peal of this gallant strain • 
and even the Cossacks, as they passed over, caught 
the national enthusiasm, and, with the clash, and 
clang, and the roar of their stormy war-music, 
swelled out the chorus of 'Am Rhein, am Rhein !' * 
" I was much struck with a spot, where we paused 
a few moments, and where Huntley burn — the little 
stream running through the Rhymour's Glen — falls 
down a steep bank into a sort of natural basin, over- 
hung with mountain ash. Sir Walter said he liked 
to associate the names of his friends with objects 
of interest in natural scenery, and, turning to an 
old countrvman who walked with us, desired him to 

* This anecdote (on which was founded her own " Rhine 
Song"), and the look and tone with which it was related, made 
an impression on her memory which nothiDg could efface. 
The very name of the " Father Rhine," the "exulting and 
abounding river" (how often would she quote that magnificent 
line of Lord Byron's !) had always worked upon her like a 
spell, conjuring up a thousand visions of romance and beauty ; 
and Haydn's inspiring Rheinweinlied, with its fine, rich tide of 
flowiDg harmony, was one of the airs she most delighted in. 
" You are quite right," she wrote to a friend who had echoed 
her enthusiasm. *' it was the description of that noble Rhine 
scene which interested me more than any part of Sir Walter's 
conversation ; and I wished more that you could have heard 
it than all the high legends and solemn scenes of which we 
spoke that day/' 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 185 

make a seat there, and to call it by my name. I re- 
peated to him the image employed by a Welsh poet 
(Aneurin) to describe the advance of an army — 
' the sound of their march was like the surly laughter 
of ocean before a storm.' He seemed much im- 
pressed by it. He told me that Cattraeth's Vale, 
the scene of Aneurin's poem, was supposed to be in 
the Ettrick country. 

" A few days afterwards, I walked with him 
through the HexeVs Cleugh; a name which he de- 
rives from the German Heoce, a witch. He repeated 
some curious anecdotes of animals, of the habits of 
which he is very observant. He mentioned that 
sheep always choose for their sleeping-place in the 
pasture, a quarter analogous to the one whence they 
came ; for instance, that sheep from a western 
country will always sleep towards the west, and so 
on. He spoke of dogs, and of the poor Indian, who 

thinks — 

* Admitted to that equal sky, 
His faithful dog shall bear him company !' 

He laughed, and said, ' What a train I should have 
in the other world ! there would be Maida and 
Nimrod, and Spicy and Ginger ; * black spirits and 
white, blue spirits and grey.' ' He told me that so 
completely did his occasional songs and pieces of 
poetry pass from his mind, that one day, hearing a 
lady sing, 'Farewell, farewell, the voice you hear' 
(from The Pirate), he admired the music exceed- 
ingly, and, after bestowing due praise upon it, be- 



186 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

thought himself, to the great amusement of the 
company, of also highly complimenting the words. 
His love of music appears to me entirely the result 
of association ; he is much interested in any air 
which possesses a national character, or has a story, 
or strong feeling connected with it. I played for 
him < O Richard, O mon Roi !' — the 'Rhine Song' — 
the ' Tragala Perro' of the Spanish Liberals — a Swiss 
Ranz des Vaches — and other music of similar char- 
acter, to which he listened with earnest attention ; 
but I should not say he had naturally any strong 
feeling of music, merely as such, though he describes, 
with thrilling power, its effects in peculiar scenes 
and hours of public excitement.* He took me to see 
the Yarrow. On our way, he spoke with much in- 
terest and respect of the high and proud feeling of 
ancestry sometimes manifested by peasant men ; and 
told an affecting story of two brothers, descended 
from some noble family, but so reduced in circum- 
stances as to be labouring for daily bread. One of 
these brothers died, and a gentleman, much interested 
in them, said to the survivor — < You are, I know, 
obliged to struggle for your maintenance ; leave the 
care of your brother's funeral to me.' — < No, sir,' 
was the answer ; < I feel your kindness gratefully ; 

* Sir Walter's own admissions on this head went still further ; 
for, in a letter written in 1828, to Mrs Hemans's sister, he 
compared himself to Jeremy in Love for Love — " having a 
reasonable good ear for a jig, though solos and sonatas give me 
the spleen." 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 187 

but we are of the house of , and, though poor 

and forlorn, my brother must sleep amongst his 
kindred, and it must be at the charge of their last 
descendant that he is conveyed there.' Sir Walter 
described an amusing rencontre between himself and 
Plat off. They met on the Boulevards at Paris ; 
Platoff was riding, attended by several Cossacks ; 
he immediately dismounted, ran up to Sir Walter, 
threw his arms round his neck, and kissed him. 

" On the banks of Yarrow, I was shown the house 
where Mungo Park, a native of the country, was 
born. Sir W T alter, in walking along the stream, 
one day came suddenly upon Park, who was em- 
ployed, and apparently absorbed, in throwing stones 
into the water, and watching the bubbles that fol- 
lowed their descent. < Park, what is it that thus 
engages your attention ?' asked Sir Walter. — < I 
was thinking,' was the reply, * how often I had thus 
tried to sound the rivers in Africa, by calculating 
how long a time had elapsed before the bubbles rose 
to the surface.' — < Then,' said Scott, ' I know you 
think of returning to Africa.' — ' I do, indeed,' was 
the answer ; < but it is yet a secret.' We saw Park's 
name, inscribed by himself, in Newark tower, to which 
we ascended, after winding along the Yarrow through 
the beautiful grounds of the Duke of Buccleuch.* 

* Here, as "little Charlie" recollects, on seeing two tourists 
make a precipitate retreat when the Abbotsford party ap- 
proached the tower, Sir Walter said, smiling — " Ah! Mrs 
Hemans, they little know what two Lions they are running 
away from l" 



I 88 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" On the way back, we talked a good deal of trees. 
I asked Sir Walter if he had not observed that every 
tree gives out its own peculiar sound to the wind. 
He said he had, and suggested to me that something 
might be done by the union of music and poetry, to 
imitate those voices of trees, giving a different mea- 
sure and style to the oak, the pine, the willow, &c. 
He mentioned a Highland air of somewhat similar 
character, called ' The Notes of the Sea-birds.' 

" Lord Napier, at dinner, made some observations 
upon a recent history of the Peninsular War, in 
which the defence of Saragossa had been spoken of 
as a vain and lavish waste of life. I was delighted 
with the kindling animation of Sir Walter's look and 
tone, as he replied — " Never let me hear that brave 
blood has been shed in vain! It sends a roaring 
voice down through all time ! " In the evening we 
had music. Not being able to sing, I read to him the 
words of a Bearnaise song, on the captivity of Louis 
XVI. and Marie Antoinette in the Temple ; though 
simple even to homeliness, they affected him to tears, 
and he begged me not to finish them.* I think the 

* This song will now, perhaps, be read with interest. It is 
called " La Complainte Bearnaise. *' 

1. 

" Un Troubadour Bearnais, 
Les yeux inondes de larmes, 
A ses montagnards chantait 
Ce refrain, source d'alarmes, — 
Louis, le fils d' Henri, 
Est prisonnier dans Paris. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 189 

feeling of loyalty — chivalrous loyalty — such as must 
have existed amongst the Paladins and preux che- 
valiers of old — seems the truest and deepest in his 
character ; he gives me the idea of being born an 

2. 
" II a vu couler le sang 
De cette garde fidele 
Qui vient donner en mourant 
Aux Francais un beau modele — 
Mais Louis, le fils d' Henri, 
Est prisonnier dans Paris. 

3 

" II a tremble pour les jours 
De sa compagne cherie, 
Qui n'a trouvee de resource 
Que dans sa propre energie ; 
Elle sait Louis, fils d'Henri, 
Dans les prisons de Paris. 

4 
il Quel crime done ont-ils commis, 
Pour etre enchaines de meme ? 
Du peuple ils sont amis ; 
Le peuple veut-il qu'on l'aime, 
Quand il met le fils d' Henri, 
Dans les prisons de Paris ? 

5 
" Le Dauphin, ce fils cheri, 
Qui fait seul notre esperance, 
De pleurs sera done nourri ! 
Le berceau qu'on donne en France, 
Aux fils de notre Henri, 
Est la prison de Paris. 



190 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

age too late for its free scope. This day has been — I 
was going to say, one of the happiest, but I am too 
isolated a being to use that word — at least, one of 
the pleasant est and most cheerfully exciting of my 
life. I shall think again and again of that walk 
under the old solemn trees that hang over the 
mountain-stream of Yarrow, with Sir Walter Scott 

6 

*' Frai^ais, trop ingrats Francais ! 
Rendez au Roi sa compagne ! 
C'est l'amour des Bearnais, 
C'est l'enfant de la montagne — . 
Le bonheur qu' avait Henri 
Nous Tassurons a Louis. 

7 

" Au pied de ce monument, 
Ou le bon Henri respire, 
Pourquoi l'airain fourlroyant ?* 
On veut que Henri conspire 
Lui-meme contre ses fils, 
Dans les prisons de Paris. 

8 

" Seches tes pleurs, O Troubadour ! 

Bearnais, sechez vos larmeR — 

Entraines par leur amour, 

Tous les Francais courent aux armes, 

Pour tirer le fils d* Henri 

De sa prison a Paris." 

* Canon place au pied du monument d' Henri Quatre a 
Paris. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 191 

beside me ; his voice frequently breaking out, as if 
half unconsciously, into some verse of the antique 
ballads, which he repeats with a deep and homely 
pathos. One stanza, in particular, will linger in my 
memory like music. 

' His mother through the window look'd, 

With all the longing of a mother, 

His little sister, weeping, walk'd 

The greenwood path to find her brother. 

They sought him east, they sought him west, 

They sought him far with moan and sorrow — 

They only saw the cloud of night, 

They only heard the roar of Yarrow ! ' 
" Before we retired for the night, he took me into 
the hall, and showed me the spot where the imagined 
form of Byron had stood before him. This hall* 
with the rich gloom shed by its deeply-coloured win- 
dows, and with its antique suits of armour, and in- 
scriptions, all breathing of < the olden time/ is truly 
a fitting scene for the appearance of so stately a 
shadow. 

" The next morning I left Abbotsford ; and who 
can leave a spot so brightened and animated by the 
life, the happy life of genius, without regret? I 
shall not forget the kindness of Sir Walter's fare- 
well — so frank, and simple, and heartfelt, as he said 
to me — ' There are some whom we meet, and should 
like ever after to claim as kith and kin ; and you are 
one of those.' It is delightful to take away with me 
so unmingled an impression of what I may now call 
almost affectionate admiration." 



192 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

Amongst the numerous friends Mrs Hemans was 
fortunate enough to possess in Scotland, there was 
one to whom she was linked by so peculiar a bond 
of union, and whose unwearied kindness is so pre- 
cious an inheritance to her children, that it is hoped 
the owner of a name so dear to them (though it be 
a part of her nature to shrink from publicity), will 
forgive its being introduced into these pages. 

This invaluaJble friend was Lady Wedderburn,* 
the mother of those " two brothers, a child and a 
youth," for whose monument Mrs Hemans had writ- 
ten an inscription, which, with its simple pathos, has 
doubtless sunk deep into the heart of many a mourner, 
as well as of many a yet rejoicing parent, there called 
upon to remember that for them, too, 

M Speaks the grave, 

Where God hath sealed the fount of hope He gave." 

Into the gentle heart, which has found relief for 
its own sorrows in soothing the griefs and promot- 
ing the enjoyments of others, the author of this 
sacred tribute was taken with a warmth and loving- 
kindness which extended its genial influence to all 
belonging to her ; and during their stay in Edin- 
burgh, whither they proceeded from Abbotsford, 
Mrs Hemans and her children were cherished with a 
true home welcome at the house of Sir David Wed- 

* The Lady of Sir David Wedderburn, Bart., and sister 
of the late Viscountess Hampden. The monument on which 
the lines are inscribed, is at Glynde, in Sussex, near Lord 
Hampden's seat. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 193 

derburn. Her impressions of that queen-like city> 
and the generous cordiality of her reception amongst 
some of the most distinguished of its inhabitants, 
will best appear in her own words. 

" T am quite delighted with Edinburgh — it is a 
gallant city to behold, full of picture at every turn 
of the streets ; and I have been greeted with such 
attention here, that truly I might begin to fancy 
myself a queen in good earnest, if I remained much 
longer. I never can forget the cordial kindness I 
have received, and all the impressions I shall carry 
hence will be bright and pleasant. I am very glad 
to have seen it at this time of the year, when it was 
represented to me as a perfect desert. A person 
must be of most gregarious habits indeed, who can- 
not find more than enough of society even in these 
desolate months. I have made some very interesting 
acquaintance — Mrs Grant of Laggan, Captain Basil 
Hall, and, above all, Mr Jeffrey, at whose house in 
the country I dined yesterday. His conversation is 
such mental champagne as I never tasted before 
— rich, full of imagery, playful, energetic ; certainly 
one of the most delightful days I have passed in 
Scotland, has been the one at Craig Crook, as his 
seat is called. To-day we are going to dine with 
Mrs Grant. The boys are well, and are delighted 
to see their heroine 6 mamma' so kindly welcomed 
by every one." 

The next extract is from a letter to her sou Claude, 
who was staying, during her absence, at Wavertree 

I. N 



194 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

Lodge. " I have just returned from visiting Edin- 
burgh Castle (the citadel, you know, of this noble 
town), and looking at the Scottish regalia, which 
are kept in one of the rooms. There is something 
impressive in the sight of a crown, sword, and sceptre, 
which have been the object of so many gallant 
struggles ; and I could have looked at them long 
with increasing interest. They are shown by the 
light of lamps, though at noon-day, in a small room, 
hung with dark crimson. Last Sunday I attended 
the preaching of Mr Alison : he has a countenance 
of most venerable beauty, a deep mellow voice, and 
an earnest gentleness of manner, which goes at once 
to the heart, and wins a feeling of almost filial affec- 
tion. After the service was ended, he came forward 
very kindly to be introduced to me, and took me, with 
Charles and Henry, into the vestry-room, where I 
had a good deal of conversation with him. He gave 
me an account of his having seen the body of James 
V. (father to Mary Queen of Scots), several years 
ago, in such perfect preservation, that the resem- 
blance of the features to the portraits of that king, 
was quite distinct. 

" Nothing in Edinburgh delights me so much as 
the Calton Hill, which I visit whenever I have an 
opportunity, and on which stands the unfinished 
Parthenon, with its graceful pillars. The view from 
the summit, of the strange gloomy Old Town, < piled 
deep and massy, close and high,' and all the classic 
buildings and columns of the New, is quite unparai- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 195 

leled. All this, too, lies set in a frame of hills of 
the boldest outline. I have not jet felt strong 
enough to ascend Arthur's Seat, and almost fear that 
I must not think of it, as I have violent palpitations 
of the heart when over fatigued. Charlie goes out 
every morning, to draw from natur e y a,s he calls it, 
some of the fine public buildings of Edinburgh, and 
has now quite a series of these sketches, which I am 
sure you will like to see." 

" I have just returned from paying the visit I 
mentioned to Mr Mackenzie, the * Man of Feeling,' 
and have been exceedingly interested. He is now 
very infirm, and his powers of mind are often much 
affected by the fitfulness of nervous indisposition, so 
that his daughter, who introduced me to his sitting- 
room, said very mournfully as we entered, ' You will 
see but the wreck of my father.' However, on my 
making some allusion, after his first kind and gentle 
reception of me, to the ' men of other times,' with 
whom he had lived in such brilliant association, it 
was really like the effect produced on the ' Last 
Minstrel' — 

i when he caught the measure wild ; 

The old man raised his face, and smiled, 
And lighted up his faded eye ;* 

for he became immediately excited, and all his fur- 
rowed countenance seemed kindling with recollec- 
tions of a race gone by. It was singular to hear 
anecdotes of Hume, and Robertson, and Gibbon, and 
the other intellectual < giants of old,' from one who 



196 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAXS. 

had mingled with their minds in familiar converse. 
I felt as if carried back at least a century. 

" < Ah !' said he, half playfully, half sadly, < there 
were men in Scotland then !' I could not help 
thinking of the story of * Ogier the Dane' — do you 
recollect his grasping the iron crow of the peasant 
who broke into his sepulchre, and exclaiming, 6 It is 
well, there are men in Denmark still P Poor Miss 
Mackenzie was so much affected by the sudden and 
almost unexpected awakening of her father's mind, 
that, on leaving the room with me, she burst into 
tears, and was some time before she could conquer 
her strong emotion. I hope to have another inter- 
view with this delightful old man before I leave 
Eclinburgh. 

" Yesterday I went to visit a fine colossal group of 
sculpture, Ajax bearing away the body of Patroclus, 
which has just been completed by an Edinburgh 
artist, and is exciting much interest here. Its effect, 
standing as it does, quite alone, in the midst of a 
large hall hung with dark crimson, is exceedingly 
imposing ; and the contrast of life and death in the 
forms of the combating and the departed warrior, 
struck me as full of power and thought. 

" A few nights ago, I made a party to walk 
through some of the most beautiful streets by moon- 
light. We went along Prince's Street, to the foot 
of the Calton Hill, and gazed down upon Holyrood, 
lying so dark and still in its desolateness, and 
forming so strong a contrast to the fair pillars of 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 197 

the Hill, which looked more pure and aerial than 
ever, as they rose against the moonlight sky. ' Mais 
qu'ils se passent des orages au fond du coeur !' and 
how little can those around one form an idea, from 
outward signs, of what may be overshadowing the 
inner world of the heart ! Such a sense of strange- 
ness and loneliness came suddenly over me, sur- 
rounded as I was, amidst all this dusky magnificence, 
by acquaintance of yesterday. I felt as if all I loved 
were so far, far removed from me, that I could have 
burst into tears from the rush of this unaccountable 
emotion." 

The adulation and excitement with which she was 
surrounded, however animating and amusing at the 
moment, could not but be followed, to a heart and 
frame constituted like hers, by a reaction of inward 
depression and physical languor. Amidst all her 
lively details, there are continual allusions to " the 
pure and home-feeling — the cup of water — to which 
I turn from all else that is offered me, as I would 
to a place of shelter from the noon-day ;" and she 
gratefully wrote of finding Lady Wedderburn's 
" maternal kindness, as a ' soft green to the soul' 
amidst all this excitement." She was singularly 
impressed by the picture at Holyrood House, shown 
as that of Rizzio. The authenticity of this desig- 
nation is said to be more than doubtful ; but hers 
was not a mind for question or cavil on points of 
this nature. The " local habitation and the name " 



198 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAKS. 

were in themselves sufficient to awaken her fancy 
and to satisfy her faith. As Rizzio's portrait, it 
took its place in her imagination ; and the train of 
deep and mournful thoughts it suggested, imbued, as 
was her wont, with the colouring of her own indi- 
vidual feelings, was embodied in the lines " To a 
remembered Picture:" — 

" They haunt me still — those calm, pure, holy eyes ! 
Their piercing sweetness wanders through my dreams ; 
The soul of music that within them lies, 
Comes o'er my soul in soft and sudden gleams : 
Life — spirit — life immortal and divine 
Is there — and yet how dark a death was thine !" 



In a very different strain was a jeu d y esprit pro- 
duced at this time, which owed its origin to a simple 
remark on the unseasonableness of the weather, 
made by Mrs Hemans to Mr Charles Kirkpatrick 
Sharpe, whom she was in the habit of seeing at Sir 
David Wedderburn's. " It is so little like summer," 
she said, " that I have not even seen a butterfly." 
" A butterfly ! " retorted Mr Sharpe — " I have not 
even seen a wasp ! " The next morning, as if in 
confutation of this calumny, a wasp made its appear- 
ance at Lady Wedderburn's breakfast table. Mrs 
Hemans immediately proposed that it should be 
made a prisoner, inclosed in a bottle, and sent to 
Mr Sharpe : this was accordingly done, and the 
piquant missive was acknowledged by him as fol- 
lows : — 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 199 

" SONNET TO A WASP, IN THE MANNER OF MILTON, &C, "BUT 
MUCH SUPERIOR. 

Poor insect ! rash as rare ! — Thy sovereign,* sure, 

Hath driven thee to Siberia in disgrace — 

Else what delusion could thy sense allure, 

To buzz and sting in this unwholesome place, 

Where e'en the hornet's hoarser, and the race 

Of filmy wing are feeble ? — Honey here 

(Scarce as its rhyme) thou find'st not — Ah! beware 

Thy golden mail, to starved Arachne dear ; t 

Though fingers famed, that thrill th' immortal lyre, 

Have pent thee up, a second Asmodeus, 

I wail thy doom — I warm thee by the fire, 

And blab our secrets — do not thou betray us ! 

I give thee liberty, I give thee breath, 

To fly from Athens, Eurus, Doctors, Death ! ! " 

To this Mrs Hemans returned the following re- 
joinder : — 

** THE LAST WORDS OF THE LAST WASP OF SCOTLAND. 

Sooth'd by the strain, the Wasp thus made reply — 
(The first, last time he spoke not waspishly) — 
" Too late, kind Poet ! comes thine aid, thy song, 
To aught first starved, then bottled up so long. 
Yet, for the warmth of this thy genial fire, 
Take a Wasp's blessing ere his race expire. 
Never may provost's foot find entrance here ! 
Never may bailie's voice invade thine ear ! 
Never may housemaid wipe the verd antique 
From coin of thine — Assyrian, Celt, or Greek ! 

* Beelzebub is the king of flies. 

f A beautiful allusion to our starving weavers. 



200 MEMOIR OF MRS REMANS. 

Never may Eurus cross thy path ! — to thee 

May winds and wynds* alike propitious be ! 

And when thou diest — (live a thousand years !)~ 

May friends fill classic bottles j" with their tears! 

I can no more — receive my parting gasp ! — 

Bid Scotland mourn the last, last lingering Wasp ! " 

In the families of the late revered Baron Hume 
and Mr Alison, Mrs Hemans formed friendships 
which were most affectionately maintained through- 
out her life, and of which a grateful remembrance 
was bequeathed to her children. Another name, 
associated with a thousand pleasant recollections of 
courteous services to herself, and indefatigable good- 
nature to her boys, was that of the late Dr James 
Gregory, that " bright-minded and most amiable 
being" (to use her own words), whose early death, 
which, only three years afterwards, removed him 
from a circle of which he was the delight and orna- 
ment, filled her with sorrow and sympathy. 

She would often playfully boast of the great fa- 
vour she had all her life enjoyed with " very old 
gentlemen," to whom, indeed, her winning and filial 
manner was always peculiarly endearing. This was 
especially instanced in the case of the venerable Sir 
Robert Liston, who, at that time, though already 
an octogenarian, was yet in the fullest exercise of 
all his refined tastes and courtly hospitalities. No- 
thing could exceed the enthusiasm of his admiration 

* Alluding to antiquarian visits to these renowned closes. 

f Referring to certain precious lachrymatories in the pos- 
session of Mr Sharpe. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS. 201 

for Mrs Henians, nor the kindliness of his interest 
in her children. It was at the earnest request of 
her chivalrous old friend, that, when on the point of 
returning to Wavertree, she was persuaded to ad- 
journ for a short time to Milburn Tower, his beau- 
tiful retreat near Edinburgh, for the purpose of 
sitting for her bust to Mr Angus Fletcher. " How 
happy I shall be," she wrote, "to breathe in the 
green shades of Milburn ! It is a lovely place, and 
I delight in the thoughts of its comparative repose, 
for I cannot tell you how I am yearning for quiet." 

" Sitting for a bust," she wrote in a subsequent 
letter, " awful as it may sound, is by no means an 
infliction so terrible as sitting for a picture : the 
sculptor allows much greater liberty of action, as 
every part of the head and form is necessary to his 
work. My effigy is now nearly completed, and is 
thought to be a performance of much talent." 

It is indeed very graceful as a work of art, and 
though the likeness is not satisfying atfirst to homely 
and household eyes, it wins its way by degrees into 
the heart, and from certain accidents of light or 
position, a resemblance may sometimes unexpectedly 
be caught, which is almost startling. 

After her visit to Milburn Tower, Mrs Hemans 
returned to her own little dwelling, rich in recol- 
lections, and eager, as usual, to share them with her 
friends. She had, soon afterwards, a cheerful visit 
from Miss Jewsbury, who was struck with her im- 
proved spirits, and liked her house, and gave a plea- 



202 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

sant sketch of the evening group — " When night 
comes," she wrote, " and the darling boys are ar- 
rived from school, and candles are lighted, and the 
doors shut, our cabinet room would make a charm- 
ing cabinet picture." 

In the Edinburgh Review for October, 1829,* 
was an article on the poetry of Mrs Hemans, from the 
master-hand of Mr Jeffrey. The peculiar charac- 
teristics of her style are there touched upon with a 
delicacy and discrimination worthy of the mighty 
critic, who had in this instance laid aside his terrors, 
and may well be said to have " done his spiriting 
gently." Her writings are treated throughout as 
a fine exemplification of " female poetry ;" and he 
brings into beautiful relief " that fine accord she has 
established between the world of sense and of soul — 
that delicate blending of our deep inward emotions 
with their splendid symbols and emblems without." 

" Almost all her poems," writes this high autho- 
rity, " are rich with fine descriptions, and studded 
over with images of visible beauty. But these are 
never idle ornaments : all her pomps have a mean- 
ing ; and her flowers and her gems are arranged, 
as they are said to be among Eastern lovers, so as 

* It should have been mentioned in the proper order of 
date, that a very favourable critique on Mrs Hemans's earlier 
poems (including all her publications, from the " Restoration 
of the Works of Art," to the " Stanzas to the Memory of the 
late King,") appeared in the Quarterly Review for October, 
1820. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 203 

to speak the language of truth and of passion. This 
is peculiarly remarkable in some little pieces, which 
seem at first sight to be purely descriptive — but are 
soon found to tell upon the heart, with a deep moral 
and pathetic impression. But it is a truth nearly 
as conspicuous in the greater part of her produc- 
tions ; where we scarcely meet with any striking 
sentiment that is not ushered in by some such sym- 
phony of external nature, and scarcely a lovely pic- 
ture that does not serve as a foreground to some 
deep or lofty emotion." 

Mrs Hemans's productions, during this winter, 
were chiefly lyrics belonging to the series of Songs 
of the Affections, and other short miscellaneous 
pieces. The principal one of these, " The Spirit's 
Return," was at that time preferred by herself to 
any thing else she had written. Still it was far 
from satisfying her, and she was worn and excited 
during its composition, by what she was wont to 
call " that weary striving after ideal beauty which 
one never can grasp," and yet more by those awful 
contemplations of the visionary world, on which it 
led her to dwell with an interest too intense, a curio- 
sity too disquieting. 

" Sometimes I think," she wrote of this poem to a 
friend, " that I have sacrificed too much in the ap- 
parition scene, to the idea that sweetness and beauty 
might be combined with supernatural effect. The 
character of the Greek sculpture, which has so sin- 
gular a hold upon my imagination, was much in my 



204 MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS. 

thoughts at the time." And, referring to the same 
piece two years after, she wrote : — " If there be, as 
my friends say, a greater power in it than I had before 
evinced, I paid dearly for the discovery, and it almost 
made me tremble as I sounded < the deep places of 
my soul.' " 

The following extracts belong to this period :— 
" I have found the Spanish ballad on the death of 
Aliatar, since you were here, and have been sur- 
prised, notwithstanding all the proud music of the 
original language, by the superior beauty of Southey's 
translation. The refrain of 

" Tristes marchando, 
Las trompas roncas," 

has certainly a more stately tone of sorrow, than 
(i Sad and slow, 
Home they go ;'' 
and yet the latter is to me a thousand times more 
touching. Is it that word home which makes it so, 
with all that it breathes of tenderness and sadness ?" 



" On calling up and reconsidering my impressions 
of Martin's picture,* it seems to me that something 
more of gloomy grandeur might have been thrown 
about the funeral pyre ; that it should have looked 
more like a thing apart, almost suggesting of itself 
the idea of an awful sacrifice. Perhaps it was not in 
the resources of the painter to do all this ; but the 
imagination, mine at least, seems to require it." 
* The Fall of Nineveh. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAXS. 205 

" Have you read Manzone's noble ode on the death- 
day of Napoleon,* translated by Archdeacon Wran- 
gham ? It has just been sent me by Signor Grimaldi, 
and I know not when I have met with Italian poetry 
so rich in deep thought and powerful expression." 



" I send you part of the conversation which so 
much delighted me in Tieck's Phantasien. I think 
you will recognise all the high tone of the thoughts, 
and be pleased with the glimpse — a bright though 
transient one — of the dreaming land — that strange 
world, which, were I to designate it by my own ex- 
perience, I should call a wilderness of beauty and of 



sorrow." 



" I believe it is only where the feelings are deeply 
interested, that the imagination causes such perpetual 
bitterness of disappointment. Do you remember St 
Leon's dissatisfaction at the manner in which his 
daughters receive the tidings of his death ? I begin 
to think that all imaginative persons are, to a certain 
degree, St Leons, and that they expect what human 
nature is very seldom rich enough to afford." 



" I have been reading Godwin's Cloudesley. It 
does not, I think, carry away the imagination with 
anything like the mighty spirit of his earlier works ; 
but it is beautifully written, with an occasional flow 
of rich and fervent eloquence, reminding me of the 
* The Cinque Maggio. 



206 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

effects lie attributes to the conversation of his own 
old alchemist in St Leon." 

Early in the summer of 1830, Mrs Hemans pub- 
lished her volume of Songs of the Affections, which 
was dedicated to her revered friend, Sir Robert 
Liston. In the month of June of the same year, she 
accomplished a project which she had long had at 
heart, of making a visit to the Lakes of Westmore- 
land. Her tremulous health, which had undergone 
many vicissitudes during the winter, needed repose 
and refreshment ; her spirit was wearied out with the 
' glare and dust of celebrity/ and she longed to 
' flee away and be at rest,' for a season amongst the 
green hills, and beside the still waters. More than 
all, she was attracted to that lovely land, by the yet 
stronger spell exercised over her mind, by the pros- 
pect of immediate communion with Mr Wordsworth, 
of whom she was daily becoming a more zealous dis- 
ciple, and whose invitations had been kind and reite- 
rated. Her son Charles was her companion on the 
journey to Rydal Mount ; and the two other boys 
joined her as soon as she was established in a tem- 
porary abode of her own. 

No words but those of her own letters can do 
justice to her impressions of society and scenery, 
which, by those who have once enjoyed them, can 
never be forgotten. 

" My nervous fear at the idea of presenting my- 
self to Mr Wordsworth, grew upon me so rapidly, 
that it was more than seven o'clock before I took 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 207 

courage to leave the inn at Ambleside. I had, in- 
deed, little cause for such trepidation. I was driven 
to a lovely cottage-like building, almost hidden by a 
profusion of roses and ivy ; and a most benignant- 
looking old man greeted me in the porch. This was 
Mr Wordsworth himself ; and when I tell you that, 
having rather a large party of visitors in the house, 
he led me to a room apart from them, and brought 
in his family by degrees, I am sure that little trait 
will give you an idea of considerate kindness which 
you will both like and appreciate." 

* * * * * * 

" There is an almost patriarchal simplicity about 
him — an absence of all pretension. All is free, un- 
studied — 

" The river winding at its own sweet will" — 

in his manner and conversation. There is more of 
impulse about them than I had expected ; but in other 
respects I see much that I should have looked for in 
the poet of meditative life : frequently his head droops, 
his eyes half close, and he seems buried in quiet 
depths of thought. I have passed a delightful morn- 
ing to-day in walking with him about his own richly 
shaded grounds, and hearing him speak of the old 
English writers, particularly Spenser, whom he loves, 
as he himself expresses it, for his " earnestness and 
devotedness." 

***** 
" I must not forget to tell you that he not only 
admired our exploit in crossing the Ulverstone Sands, 



208 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

as a deed o£ " derring do," but as a decided proof of 
taste : the Lake scenery, he says, is never seen to 
such advantage as after the passage of what he calls 
its majestic barrier." 



" I have been making you a little drawing of Mr 
Wordsworth's house, which, though it has no other 
merit than that of fidelity, will, I know, find favour 
in your sight. The steps up the front lead to a little 
grassy mound, commanding a view always so rich, 
and sometimes so brightly solemn, that one can well 
imagine its influence traceable in many of the Poet's 
writings. On this mount he frequently sits all even- 
ing, and sometimes seems borne away in thought." 



" I seem to be writing to you almost from the 
spirit-land ; all is here so brightly still, so remote 
from every-day cares and tumults, that sometimes I 
can hardly persuade myself I am not dreaming. It 
scarcely seems to be < the light of common day ' that 
is clothing the woody mountains before me ; there 
is something almost visionary in its soft gleams and 
ever- changing shadows. I am charmed with Mr 
Wordsworth, whose kindness to me has quite a 
soothing influence over my spirits. Oh ! what re- 
lief, what blessing there is in the feeling of admira- 
tion, when it can be freely poured forth ! * There 
is a daily beauty in his life,' which is in such lovely 
harmony with his poetry, that I am thankful to have 
witnessed and felt it. He gives me a good deal of 



MEMOIR OF MR3 HEMANS. 209 

his society, reads to me, walks with me, leads my 
pony when I ride ; and I begin to talk with him as 
with a sort of paternal friend. The whole of this 
morning, he kindly passed in reading to me a great 
deal from Spenser, and afterwards his ovmLaodamia, 
my favourite Tintem Abbey, and many of his noble 
sonnets. His reading is very peculiar, but, to my 
ear, delightful ; slow, solemn, earnest in expression 
more than any I have ever heard : when he reads or 
recites in the open air, his deep rich tones seem to 
proceed from a spirit-voice, and belong to the reli- 
gion of the place ; they harmonise so fitly with the 
thrilling tones of woods and waterfalls. His ex- 
pressions are often strikingly poetical ; such as — c I 
would not give up the mists that so spiritualize 
our mountains, for all the blue skies of Italy.' Yes- 
terday evening he walked beside me as I rode on a 
long and lovely mountain-path, high above Grasmere 
Lake. I was much interested by his showing me, 
carved deep into the rock, as we passed, the initials 
of his wife's name, inscribed there many years ago by 
himself ; and the dear old man, like ' Old Mortality,' 
renews them from time to time. I could scarcely 
help exclaiming ' Esto perpetua !' " 



" It is delightful to see a life in such perfect har- 
mony with all that his writings express — 

* True to the kindred points of Heaven and home !' 
You may remember how much I disliked, and I 
think you agreed with me in reprobating, that shal- 
i. o 



210 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

low theory of Mr Moore's with regard to the unfit- 
ness of genius for domestic happiness. I was speak- 
ing of it yesterday to Mr Wordsworth, and was 
pleased by his remark, i It is not because they pos- 
sess genius that they make unhappy homes, but 
because they do not possess genius enough ; a higher 
order of mind would enable them to see and feel all 
the beauty of domestic ties.' His mind, indeed, may 
well inhabit an untroubled atmosphere, for, as he 
himself declares, no wounded affections, no embit- 
tered feelings, have ever been his lot ; the current 
of his domestic life has flowed on, bright, and pure, 
and unbroken. Hence, I think, much of the high, 
sculpture-like repose which invests both his cha- 
racter and writings with so tranquil a dignity." 



" Mr Wordsworth's kindness has inspired me with 
a feeling of confidence which it is delightful to asso- 
ciate with those of admiration and respect, before 
excited by his writings ; — and he has treated me with 
so much consideration, and gentleness, and care ! — 
they have been like balm to my spirit after all the 
fades flatteries with which I am hlasee. I wish I had 
time to tell you of mornings which he has passed in 
reading to me, and of evenings when he has walked 
beside me, whilst I rode through the lovely vales of 
Grasmere and Rydal ; and of his beautiful, some- 
times half-unconscious recitation, in a voice so deep 
and solemn, that it has often brought tears into my 
eyes. One little incident I must describe. We had 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 211 

been listening, during one of these evening rides, to 
various sounds and notes of birds, which broke upon 
the stillness, and at last I said — < Perhaps there may 
be a deeper and richer music pervading all Nature, 
than we are permitted, in this state, to hear. ' He 
answered by reciting those glorious lines of Milton's, 
' Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth, 
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep,' &c. 

and this in tones that seemed rising from such depths 
of veneration ! I cannot describe the thrill with 
which I listened ; it was like the feeling which Lord 
Byron has embodied in one of his best and purest 
moments, when he so beautifully says, — 

4 And not a breath crept through the rosy air, 
And yet the forest leaves seemed stirred with prayer.' 

Mr Wordsworth's daily life in the bosom of his 
family, is delightful — so affectionate and confiding. 
I cannot but mournfully feel, in the midst of their 
happiness, ' Still, still, I am a stranger here !' — but 
where am I not a stranger now ?" 



" Yesterday I rode round Grasmere and Rydal 
Lake. It was a glorious evening, and the imaged 
heaven in the waters more completely filled my mind, 
even to overflowing, than I think any object in na- 
ture ever did before. I could have stood in silence 
before the magnificent vision for an hour, as it flushed 
and faded, aod darkened at last into the deep sky of 
a summer's night. I thought of the scriptural ex- 
pression, i A sea of glass mingled with fire :' no other 



212 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

words are fervid enough to convey the least impres- 
sion of what lay burning before me." * 

In the midst of all these enjoyments, a slight acci- 
dent, or rather an accident manque, a little inter- 
fered with the improvement in her health, which had 
before been so apparent. " I have been very nearly 
thrown," she wrote, " from a spirited palfrey ; and 
though I natter myself that Di. Vernon herself could 
scarcely have displayed more self-possession in the 
actual moment of danger, still the shock and sur- 
prise, which were so great as to deprive me of my 
voice for several minutes, have brought on severe 
beating of the heart, and left me as tremulous as an 
aspen leaf. They have not, however, startled my 
courage from its ' pride of place,' as I am going to 
mount the same steed this evening." 

After continuing for more than a fortnight the 

* This sweet vale of Grasmere, with its secluded beauty, 
partafring almost of an air of consecration, was one of the vi- 
sions she best loved to call up ; and her sonnet, " A Remem- 
brance of Grasmere," written four years afterwards, describes 
the peculiar colouring with which her imagination invested it. 
" O vale and lake, within your mountain urn, 
Smiling so tranquilly, and set so deep ! 
Oft doth your dreamy loveliness return, 
Colouring the tender shadows of my sleep 
With light Elysian : — for the hues that steep 
Your shores in melting lustie, seem to float 
On golden clouds from spirit-lands remote — 
Isles of the blest ; — and in our memory keep 
Their place with holiest harmonies." 



MEMOIR OF MUS HEMANS. 213 

inmate of Rydal Mount, * Mrs Hemans took up her 
abode at a sweet little retired cottage called Dove 
Nest, which had so taken her fancy when she first 
saw it from the lake, that it seemed quite a gleam of 
good fortune to find that it was to be let, and that 
she could engage rooms there for a few weeks' so- 
journ. Here she was joined by the rest of her little 
group, and it might have been difficult to say which 
of the party was most alive to the " sweet influences " 

* The description of this lovely spot, in a little poem called 
" The Poet's Home," written by Miss Jewsbury, and published 
iD the Literary Magnet for 1826, is so true and graphic, that it 
cannot but add to the interest of these details, and must be 
echoed by all who can personally vouch for its fidelity. 
" Low and white, yet scarcely seen 

Are its walls, for mantling green, 

Not a window lets in light, 

But through flowers clustering bright ; 

Not a glance may wander there, 

But it falls on something fair ; 

Garden choice, and fairy mound, 

Only that no elves are found ; 

Winding walk, and sheltered nook, 

For student grave, and graver book : 

Or a bird-like bower, perchance, 

Fit for maiden and romance. 

Then, far off, a glorious sheen 

Of wide and sun-lit waters seen ; 

Hills, that in the distance lie, 

Blue and yielding as the sky ; 

And nearer, closing round the nest, 

The home, — of all, the ' living crest,' 



214 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

around them. " Henry out with his fishing-rod, and 
Charles sketching, and Claude climbing the hill above 
the Nest. I cannot follow," she continued, " for I 
have not strength yet ; but I think in feeling I am 
more a child than any of them." 

" How shall I tell you," she wrote from this deli- 
cious retirement, " of all the loveliness by which I 
am surrounded — of all the soothing and holy influence 
it seems shedding down into my inmost heart. I have 
sometimes feared, within the last two years, that the 

Other rocks and mountains stand, 
Rugged, yet a guardian band, 
Like those that did, in fable old, 
Elysium from the world infold. 

Poet ! though such dower be thine, 
Deem it not as yet divine ; 
What shall outward sign avail, 
If the answering spirit fail ? 
What this beauteous dwelling be, 
If it hold not hearts for thee ? 
If thou call its charms thine own, 
Yet survey those charms alone ? 
— List again : — companions meet 
Thou shalt have in thy retreat. 

One, of long tried love and truth, 
Thine in age, as thine in youth ; 
One whose locks of partial grey 
Whisper somewhat of decay ; 
Yet whose bright and beaming eye 
Tells of more, that cannot die. 



MEMOIR OF MBS HEMANS. 215 

effect of suffering and adulation, and feelings too 
highly wrought and too severely tried, would have 
been to dry up within me the fountains of such pure 
and simple enjoyment ; but now I know that 

c Nature never did betray 

The heart that loved her. ' 

I can think of nothing but what is pure, and true, 
and kind ; and my eyes are filled with grateful tears 
even whilst I am writing to you. 

" I must try to describe my little nest, since I can- 
Then a second form beyond, 
Thine too, by another bond ; 
Sportive, tender, graceful, wild, 
Scarcely woman, more than child — 
One who doth thy heart entwine, 
Like the ever clinging vine ; 
One to whom thou art a stay, 
As the oak, that, scarred and grey, 
Standeth on, and standeth fast, 
Strong and stately to the last. 

Poet's lot like this hath been ; 
Such perchance may I have seen ; 
Or in fancy's fairy land, 
Or in truth, and near at hand : 
If in fancy, then, forsooth, 
Fancy had the force of truth ; 
If again a truth it were, 
Then was truth as fancy fair ; 
But whichever it might be, 
'Twas a paradise to me 1" 

M. J. J. 



216 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

not ' call spirits from the vasty Lake/ to bring you 
hither through the air. The house was originally 
meant for a small villa, though it has long passed 
into the hands of farmers, and there is in conse- 
quence an air of neglect about the little demesne, 
which does not at all approach desolation, and yet 
gives it something of touching interest. You see 
every where traces of love and care beginning to be 
effaced — rose trees spreading into wildness — laurels 
darkening the windows with too luxuriant bran- 
ches ; and I cannot help saying to myself, i Per- 
haps some heart like my own in its feelings and 
sufferings has here sought refuge and found repose.' 
The ground is laid out in rather an antiquated style, 
which, now that nature is beginning to reclaim it 
from art, I do not at all dislike. There is a little 
grassy terrace immediately under the window, de- 
scending to a small court with a circular grass plot, 
on which grows one tall white rose tree. You can- 
not imagine how I delight in that fair, solitary, 
neglected-looking tree. I am writing to you from 
an old-fashioned alcove in the little garden, round 
which the sweet briar and moss rose tree have 
completely run wild ; and I look down from it upon 
lovely Winandermere, which seems at this moment 
even like another sky, so truly is every summer 
cloud and tint of azure pictured in its transparent 
mirror." 



" I am so much delighted with the spot, that J 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 217 

scarcely know how I shall leave it. The situation 
is one of the deepest retirement ; but the bright lake 
before me, with all its fairy barks and sails, glancing 
like l things of life ' over its blue water, prevents 
the solitude from being overshadowed by any thing 
like sadness." 



" I visited Elleray, Professor Wilson's house* 
(though he is not now at home), a few days since, 
The scene around it is in itself a festival. I never 
saw any landscape bearing so triumphant a character. 
The house, which is beautiful, seems built as if to 
overlook some fairy pageant, something like the 
Venetian splendour of old, on the glorious lake be- 
neath." 



u I should have thanked you sooner for all those 
spirit-stirring tales from the early annals of England : 
they will afford me food for thought some future 
day ; but I think my spirit is too much lulled by 
these sweet scenes, to breathe one song of sword 
and spear until I have bid Winandermere fare- 
well." 

TF V If! V T& 3k $tt 

" There is balm in the very stillness of the spot I 
have chosen. | The majestic silence of these lakes, 

* Now the residence of Thomas Hamilton, Esq. 

f " Where even the motion of an angel's wing 
Would interrupt the intense tranquillity 
Of silent hills, and more than silent sky." — Wordsworth. 



218 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

perfectly soundless and waveless as they are, except 
when troubled by the wind, is to me most impressive. 
Oh ! what a poor thing is society in the presence of 
sMes and waters and everlasting hills ! You may be 
sure I do not allude to the dear intercourse of friend 
with friend ; — that would be dearer tenfold — more 
precious, more hallowed in scenes like this." 

In dwelling upon these records of pure and health- 
ful enjoyment, poured forth so freshly and freely 
from the ever-gushing fountain of her heart, it 
is difficult to repress the natural pangs that arise, 
of sorrowful yearning and tender pity, for one who, 
with feelings so attuned to the sweetest and holiest 
harmonies of life, was, by her troubled and bewilder- 
ing lot, shut out from all but transient breathings, 
" few and far between," of "an ampler ether, a diviner 
air " Such instances are fraught with regrets to 
human hearts, — with sad and strange mysteries to 
mortal vision ; regrets and mysteries which can alone 
be soothed and solved by unquestioning faith, and 
serene reliance on the good providence of God. A 
passage from the works of the late John Bowdler, 
bearing upon this subject, and quoted in one of her 
own letters, was appropriated by her with no less 
happy effect than fitting application. It is as fol- 
lows : — " Could the veil which now separates us from 
futurity be drawn aside, and those regions of ever- 
lasting happiness and sorrow, which strike so faintly 
on the imagination, be presented fully to our eyes, 
it would occasion, I doubt not, a sudden and strange 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 219 

revolution in our estimate of things. Many are the 
distresses for which we now weep in suffering or 
sympathy, that would awaken us to songs of thanks- 
giving ; many the dispensations which now seem 
dreary and inexplicable, that would fill our adoring 
hearts with thanksgiving and joy." 



The soothing and healthful repose which had been 
so thoroughly and thankfully appreciated, was, alas ! 
not destined to be of long continuance. Subsequent 
letters speak of the irruption of parties " hunting for 
lions in dove's nests " — of a renewal of the " Album 
persecution" — of an absolute Maelstrom of letters 
and papers threatening " to boil over the drawer to 
which they were consigned ;" till at last the des- 
pairing conclusion is come to, that " one might as 
well hope for peace in the character of a shadowless 
man as of a literary woman." How heartily could 
Mrs Hemans now have repeated what she had written 
some months before, under the pressure of peculiar 
irritation — " Do you know the song — < Where shall 
we bury our shame V Change the last word into 
fame, and it will express all my present perplexities." 

On quitting her pretty Dove Nest* about the 

* Her residence at this fairy dwelling was pleasingly recorded 
by the magic pen of Christopher North, in the paper called, a 
'* Day at Winandermere," in Blackwood's Magazine for Sep- 
tember, 1830. He is describing the principal features of the 
landscape from one favourite point — " On the nearer side of 
theae hills is seen stretching far off to other lofty regions — 



220 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

middle of August, Mrs Hemans was prevailed upon 
to make a second visit to Scotland, chiefly in com- 
pliance with the urgent invitations of her kind old 
friend Sir Robert Liston, whose advanced age made it 
so improbable that she should have any other chance 
of ever seeing him again. On this occasion, she and 
her little " Carlo dolce," as some of her friends would 
affectionately call him, were every where received 
with the same gratifying distinction, and still more 
gratifying kindness, which had marked their sojourn 
in the North. Several of the visits were now ac- 
complished which she had, at that time, been obliged 
to decline ; particularly to those " stately homes of 
Scotland, 5 ' Hopetoun House and Kinfauns Castle. 
During her stay at Milbura Tower> she formed a 
friendship with the family of the late J. C. Graves, 
Esq. of Dublin, who were Sir Robert Liston's guests 
at the same time 5 and having in view a visit to 
Wales in the course of the autumn, she was induced 
by them to carry this into effect by way of Dublin 
and Holyhead, instead of proceeding from Glasgow 
to Liverpool. 

Hill-bell and High Street conspicuous over the rest — the long 
vale of Troutbreck, with its picturesque cottages, ' in numbers 
without number, numberless,' and all its sable pines and syca- 
mores ; on the farther side, that most sylvan of all sylvan 
mountains, where lately the Hemans warbled her native wood- 
notes wild in her poetic bower, fitly called Dove Nest ; — and 
beyond, Kirkstone Fells and Rydal Head, magnificent giants, 
looking westward to the Langdale Pikes, 

1 The last that parley with the setting sun.' " 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 22] 

Mrs Hemans had been for some time possessed 
with the conviction that her situation at Wavertree 
was neither suitable to her own health, nor half so 
favourable a one as she had been led to hope, for the 
education of her sons. She had therefore found it 
necessary to contemplate another change of residence, 
and had once serious thoughts of establishing herself 
in Edinburgh ; a plan which would have been, in 
many respects, most desirable ; but the opinion of 
her medical friends was uniform and decided, that 
her constitution was totally unfit to brave the seve- 
rity of a northern climate, and that, in fact, one 
winter, or rather spring, in Edinburgh, might be 
fatal to her. 

Having formed very agreeable impressions of 
Dublin on her present visit, and being much in- 
fluenced by the encouraging reports she heard of its 
climate and educational advantages, as well as by the 
circumstance of her brother, Major Browne, being 
settled in Ireland, she now came to the determination 
of removing there in the following spring. Late in 
the autumn, on her way back to Wavertree, she paid 
her last visit to Bronwylfa, and bade a second, and 
now an unconsciously final, adieu to the 

" Green land of her childhood, her home, and her dead." 

The following extracts are chiefly from letters 
addressed to her new friends in Dublin : — 

" I thought Anglesey, through which I travelled, 
without exception, the most dreary, culinary looking 



222 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

land of prose I ever beheld. I strove in vain to con- 
jure up the ghost of a Druid, or even of a tree, on 
its wide, monotonous plains, which I really think 
nature must have produced to rest herself, after the 
strong excitement of composing the Caernarvonshire 
hills. But I cannot tell you how much I wanted to 
express my feelings when at last that bold mountain 
chain rose upon me, in all its grandeur, with the 
crowning Snowdon (very superior, I assure you, 
in ' shape and feature, ' to our friend Ben Lomond), 
maintaining his s pride of place ' above the whole 
ridge. And the Menai bridge, which I thought I 
should scarcely have noticed in the presence of those 
glorious heights, really seems, from its magnificence, 
a native feature of the scene, and nobly asserts the 
pre-eminence of mind above all other things. I 
could scarcely have conceived such an union of 
strength and grace ; and its chain work is so airy in 
appearance, that to drive along it seems almost like 
passing through the trellis of a bower ; it is quite 
startling to look down from any thing which ap- 
pears so fragile, to the immense depth below. 

" Part of my journey lay along the sea-shore 
rather late at night, and I was surprised by quite a 
splendid vision of the northern lights, on the very 
spot where I had once, and once only, before seen 
them in early childhood. They shot up like slender 
pillars of white light, with a sort of arrowy motion, 
from a dark cloud above the sea ; their colour varied 
in ascending, from that of silver to a faint orange, 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 223 

and then a very delicate green ; and sometimes the 
motion was changed, and they chased each other 
along the edge of the cloud, with a dazzling bright- 
ness and rapidity. I was almost startled by seeing 
them there again ; and after so long an interval of 
thoughts and years, it was like the effect produced 
by a sudden burst of familiar and yet long-forgotten 
music. " 



u I did not observe any object of interest on my 
voyage from Wales, excepting a new beacon at the 
extremity of the Liverpool Rock, and which I thought 
a good deal like the pictures of the Eddystone Light- 
house. There was something to me particularly 
stern and solemn in its appearance, as it rose darkly 
against a very wild sky, like a ' pillar of cloud, 
with a capital of deep-coloured fire : but perhaps 
the gloom and stormy effect of the evening might 
have very much aided the impression left upon my 
fancy." 



" Have you seen Rogers's Italy, with its exqui- 
site embellishments ? The whole book seems to me 
quite a triumph of art and taste. Some of Turner's 
Italian scenes, with their moon-lit vestibules and 
pillared arcades, the shadows of which seem almost 
trembling on the ground as you look at them, really 
might be fit representations of Armida's enchanted 
gardens : and there is one view of the Temples of 
Paestum, standing in their severe and lonely gran- 



224 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

deur on the shore, and lit up by a flash of lightning, 
which brought to my mind those lines of Byron — . 

* As I gazed, the place 

Became Religion, and the heart ran o'er 
With silent worship of the great of old.' 

" I have not yet read Northcote's Life of Titian, 
but I was much struck with a passage I lately saw 
quoted from it, relating to that piercing, intellectual, 
eagle-look, which I have so often remarked in Ti- 
tian's portraits. 6 It is the intense personal charac- 
ter,' Northcote says ' which gives the superiority to 
those portraits over all others, and stamps them with 
a living and permanent interest. Whenever you turn 
to look at them, they appear to be looking at you. 
There seems to be some question pending between 
you, as if an intimate friend or an inveterate foe 
were in the room with you. They exert a kind of 
fascinating power, and there is that exact resem- 
blance to individual nature, which is always new 
and always interesting.' I suppose it was a feeling 
of this kind which made Fuseli exclaim, on seeing 
Titian's picture of Paul the Third with his two 
nephews, ' That is history !' " 



" The account you sent me of the longevity of ar- 
tists (a privilege which I, at least, am far from en- 
vying them), seemed confirmed, or rather accounted 
for, in some degree, by a paper I was reading on 
the same day, — it is written, with great enthusiasm, 
on the ' Pleasures of Painting ;' and the author 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 225 

(Hazlitt, I believe), describes the studies of tbe ar- 
tist as a kind of sanctuary, a ' city of refuge' from 
worldly strife, envy and littleness ; and his com- 
munion with nature as sufficient to fill the void, 
and satisfy all the cravings of heart and soul. I 
wonder if this indeed can be. I should like to go by 
night with a magician to the Coliseum (as Ben- 
venuto Cellini did), and call up the spirits of those 
mighty Italian artists, and make them all tell me 
whether they had been happy ; but it would not do 
to forget, as he also did — (have you ever read those 
strange memoirs of his ?) — the spell by which the 
ghosts were laid, as the consequences were extremely 
disagreeable." 



" I was much interested a few days ago, in looking 
over some beautiful engravings of antique English 
portraits. I wonder whether you were ever impressed 
by what struck me much during an examination of 
them, the superior character of repose by which they 
are distinguished from the portraits of the present day. 
I found this, to a certain degree, the predominant trait 
in every one of them ; not any thing like nonchalance 
or apathy, but a certain high-minded self-possession, 
something like what I think the c Opium -Eater' 
calls the 'brooding of the majestic intellect over all.' 
I scarcely ever see a trace of this quiet, yet stately 
sweetness, in the expression of modern portraits ; 
they all look so eager, so restless, so trying to be 
vieille. I wonder if this is owing to the feverish ex- 
i. P 



226 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

citement of the times in which we live, for I should 
suppose that the world has never been in such a hurry 
during the whole course of its life before." 



" Since I wrote last, I have been quite confined to 
the house ; but before I caught my last very judicious 
cold, I went to see an exquisite piece of sculpture, 
which has been lately sent to this neighbourhood 
from Rome by Gibson, with whose name as an artist 
you are most likely familiar. It is a statue of Sappho, 
representing her at the moment she receives the 
tidings of Phaon's desertion. I think I prefer it to 
almost any thing I ever saw of Canova's, as it pos- 
sesses all his delicacy and beauty of form, but is 
imbued with a far deeper sentiment. There is a sort 
of willowy drooping in the figure, which seems to ex- 
press a weight of unutterable sadness, and one sink- 
ing arm holds the lyre so carelessly, that you al- 
most fancy it will drop while you gaze. Altogether, 
it seems to speak piercingly and sorrowfully of the 
nothingness of Fame, at least to woman. There 
was a good collection of pictures in the same house, 
but they were almost unaccountably vulgarized in 
my sight by the presence of the lonely and graceful 
statue." 



" I wish I could be with you to see Young's per- 
formance of Hamlet, of all Shakspeare's characters 
the one which interests me most ; I suppose from 
the never-ending conjectures in which it involves 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 227 

one's mind. Did I ever mention to you Goethe's 
beautiful remark upon it ? He says, that Hamlet's 
naturally gentle and tender spirit, overwhelmed with 
its mighty tasks and solemn responsibilities, is like a 
China vase, fit only for the reception of delicate 
flowers, but in which an oak-tree has been planted ; 
the roots of the strong tree expand, and the fair vase 
is shivered." 



" I have lately met with an exquisite little book. 
a work upon the Classics, just published, by Henry 
Coleridge ; it is written with all the fervour, and 
much of the rich imagination and flow of 6 words 
that burn,' which characterise the writings of his 
celebrated relative." 



" Some Quarterly Reviews have lately been sent 
to me, one of which contains an article en Byron, by 
which I have been deeply and sorrowfully impressed. 
His character, as there portrayed, reminded me of 
some of those old Eastern cities, where travellers 
constantly find a squalid mud hovel built against the 
ruins of a gorgeous temple ; for alas ! the best part 
of that fearfully mingled character is but ruin — 
the wreck of what might have been." 



" I have been reading a great deal during all this 
gloomy winter, and have been charmed lately by an 
account of the life of my favourite musician Weber, in 
the Foreign Quarterly Review, with extracts from 



228 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

his letters. The flow of affectionate feeling in these 
— the love he everywhere manifests of excellences/or 
its own sake — the earnestness and truth of heart re- 
vealed in all his actions — these things make up a 
character, like his own music, of perfect harmony. 
Is it not delightful, a foundation of gladness to our 
own hearts, when we are able to love what we ad- 
mire ? I shall play the waltz, and those beautiful 
airs from < Der Freischiitz,' with tenfold pleasure 
after reading the memoir." 



" I hope you will be as much amused at the ' An- 
alysis of a Lady's Tear/ which I inclose for your edi- 
fication, as I have been. Only imagine the tear to 
have been one shed at parting, and then can you con- 
ceive any thing so unsentimental ?" 

The inclosure was the following extract, cut out of 
a newspaper : — " Analysis of a Lady's Tear, — This 
was really effected by the celebrated Smithson, one of 
the fellows of the Royal Society, whose loss the past 
week has had to deplore. Nothing, it seems, eluded 
the grasp of this enquiring man, who, not content with 
operating on the common objects which nature had 
placed before him, presumed to approach the shrine 
of beauty itself, wherewith to satisfy his curiosity. 
He had analysed more than a dew-drop — a lady's 
tear ! He caught the pearly treasure as it fell from 
its source, and on submitting it to his tests, discovered 
that it contained two separate salts." 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 229 

4< Since I last wrote to you, I have received a visit 
from a remarkable person, whose mind is full, even 
to overflowing, of intelligence and original thought. 

It is Dr , the distinguished linguist, of whom 

I shall speak. I do not know when I have heard such 
a flow of varying conversation ; it is like having a 
flood of mind poured out upon you, and that, too, 
evidently from the strong necessity of setting the 
current free, not from any design to shine or over- 
power. I think I was most interested in his descrip- 
tions of Spain, a country where he has lived much, 
and to which he is strongly attached. He spoke of 
the songs which seem to fill the airs of the South, 
from the constant improvisation of the people at their 
work : he described as a remarkable feature of the 
scenery, the little rills and water-courses which 
were led through the fields and gardens, and even 
over every low wall, by the Moors of Andalusia, and 
which yet remain, making the whole country vocal 
with pleasant sounds of waters : he told me also 
several striking anecdotes of a bandit chief in 
Murcia, a sort of Spanish Rob Roy, who has carried 
on his predatory warfare there for many years, and 
is so adored by the peasantry, for whose sake he 
plunders the rich, that it is impossible for the 
government ever to seize upon him. Some expres- 
sions of the old Bis cay an (the Basque) language, 
which he translated for me, I thought beautifully 
poetical. The sun is called, in that language, * that 
which pours the day ;' and the moon, i the light of 



230 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS- 

the dead/ Well, from Spain lie travelled, or rather 
shot off — like Robin Goodfellow, who could 

* put a girdle round about the earth 

In forty minutes,' — 

away to Iceland, and told me of his having seen 
there a MS. recording the visit of an Icelandic 
Prince to the court of our old Saxon king, Athel- 
stane. Then to Paris, Brussels, Warsaw, with a 
sort of ' open sesame ' for the panorama of each 
court and kingdom. 

# # * * * 

" A striking contrast to all this, was a visit I lately 
paid to old Mr Roscoe, who may be considered quite 
as the father of literature in this part of the world. 
He is a delightful old man, with a fine Roman style 
of head, which he had adorned with a green velvet 
cap to receive me in, because, as he playfully said, 
1 he knew I always admired him in it.' * Altogether 
he put me rather in mind of one of Rembrandt's 
pictures ; and, as he sat in his quiet study, sur- 
rounded by busts, and books, and flowers, and with 
a beautiful cast of Canova's Psyche in the back- 
ground, I thought that a painter, who wished to 
make old age look touching and venerable, could 
not have had a better subject. " 

* This is not the first instance of the attractions of a green 
velvet cap. In one of Alexander Knox's leiters, speaking of 
the picture for which he was then sitting, he says — " Sir 
Thomas Acland would have me in my invalid dress — my green 
velvet nightcap had taken hold of his heart." 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 231 

The occasional society of Mr Roscoe, in such 
bright intervals as were admitted by his failing 
health (which frequently obliged him to pass months 
in comparative seclusion, though it never impaired 
his mental energies and cheerful benevolence), was 
one of the greatest enjoyments of Mrs Hemans's 
residence near Liverpool. She never spoke of him 
but with affectionate deference, and had an honest 
pride in knowing that he appreciated her poetry, 
and took pleasure in having it read to him. It was 
during the present winter and spring that she ap- 
plied herself with some diligence to the study of 
music, under the instruction of Mr J. Zeugheer 
Herrmann, who, as she wrote, " comes to me every 
week, and I should like him as a master exceedingly 
were it not that I am sure I give him the toothache 
whenever I play a wrong note, and a sympathising 
pang immediately shoots through my own compas- 
sionate heart." \ 

About the same time, she began to be sensible of 
a newly-awakened power of inventing airs, adapted 
to the words of some of her own lyrics. The spon- 
taneous flow of this stream of melody, was a source 
of great delight to her, though she found some dif- 
ficulty in the mechanical part of noting down, or 
what she called " caging," her musical fancies. In 
this task she was most kindly aided by Mr Lodge, 
the accomplished amateur already alluded to ; and 
to whom she was indebted for the symphonies and 
accompaniments of two of her songs, " Go forth, 



232 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

for she is gone," and " By the mighty Minster's 
Bell," which were published by Lonsdale and Mills.* 
The following note may be applicable to that 
numerous class of hieroglyphical writers, who would 
do well to adopt the ingenious device of a certain 
French nobleman of the vieille cour : — " Par respect, 
Monsieur" (he wrote, or rather scrawled, to a per- 
son of equal rank with himself), " je vous ecris de 
ma propre main ; mais pour faciliter la lecture, je 
vous envoy e une copie de ma lettre." — " I have the 
pleasure to inform you that you have attained a de- 
gree of indistinctness positively sublime in the name 
of the day upon which you promise to visit me next. 
I was, as the Lady Cherubina says, in The Heroine, 
' terribly ill off for mysteries/ before the arrival of 
your note ; but this deficiency is now most happily 
supplied. Reasoning from analogy instead of wis- 
dom, I should conclude it to be Tuesday, but then it 
has, if my senses fail me not, a dotted i : it seems 
to have rather too many letters for Friday, and into 
Wednesday it cannot be metamorphosed, even on the 
antiquarian system, that ' consonants are change- 
able at pleasure, and vowels go for nothing/ i The 
force of nature can no further go ;' therefore I re- 

* The copyright of four other songs, also composed by Mrs 
Hemans, was purchased by the late Mr Power, not long before 
his death ; but it is believed they have never been published. 
These were, — "The Wreck;" " Thou'rt passing from the 
Lake's green side ; " (the Indian song from " Edith, " in Records 
of Woman) ; " Death and the Warrior ; " and " Good-Night." 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 233 

turn the awful hieroglyphic for your inspection, and 
beg for some further light." 

The next note refers to some of the works of an 
amiable young artist, whose distinguished talents 
excited in all who knew him a strong feeling of ad- 
miration, subdued into sorrowful interest by his 
early death. 

" I return the very interesting collection of Mr 
Austin's drawings, which I had great pleasure in 
looking over yesterday evening. I only regret that 
there were no names to them, as I am prevented 
from particularizing those which I most admired ; 
but I recognised Tivoli, and was especially struck 
with one representing the interior of a church. 
There is also an exquisite little hermitage buried 
among trees, where I should like to pass at least a 
month after my late fatigues, and hear nothing but 
the sound of leaves and waters, and now and then 
some pleasant voice of a friend. I did not quite 
understand a message which Henry brought me, 
about the dedication or advertisement to these 
drawings. I cannot help feeling interested in Mr 
Austin, from all I have heard you say of him ; and 
if you think it would gratify him, I would send you 
a few lines to be prefixed to this work, in which I 
should try to express in poetry what I imagine he 
wishes to convey — that the spirit of the artist was 
wandering over the sunny fields of Italy, whilst he 
himself was confined to the bed of sickness." 



234 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

The " late fatigues" referred to in the above note, 
were occasioned by all the harassing preparations 
for removal, which were now assuming a " form and 
pressure " absolutely overwhelming to one so little 
used to worldly cares, and whose fitful strength was 
so easily exhausted. Mrs Hemans had continued 
to be visited throughout the winter, by those dis- 
tressing attacks of palpitation of the heart, which 
caused her friends so much uneasiness, and were in- 
variably brought on by any unwonted excitement, 
or mental agitation. " My chest is still strangely 
oppressed," she wrote in one of her letters, " and 
always makes me think of Horatio's words : — 
* I, in this harsh world, draw my breath with pain.' " 

And the following, written at the point of depar- 
ture, now seems fraught with a sad foreboding : — 

" You will be surprised to hear, that notwith- 
standing my healthful looks, Dr , who visited 

me after you were gone, positively forbade the in- 
tended excursion to Ince, and gave me most serious 
admonitions with regard to that complaint of the 
heart from which I suffer. He says that nothing 
but great care and perfect quiet will prevent its as- 
suming a dangerous character ; and I told him that 
he might as well prescribe for me the powdered dia- 
monds which physicians of the olden time ordered 
for royal patients. I must own that this has some- 
what deepened the melancholy impressions under 
which I am going to Ireland, for I cannot but feel 
assured that he is right" 



MEMOIR OF MRS IIEMANS. 235 

On the subject of her new plans, she thus wrote 
to an attached friend in Scotland : — " One of my 
greatest inducements to take this step, is the con- 
stant want of protection and domestic support to 
which mj situation exposes me, and my anxiety to 
have my brother's advice and guidance as to my 
boys, for whose future prospects in life I begin 
to feel painfully anxious. Ireland seems a troubled 
land to seek, just at present ; but every place 
is troubled to a woman at once so conspicuous, 
so unprotected, and so little acquainted with the 
world as, from peculiar causes, I am. I shall not 
despair of seeing you again, as Scotland is just as 
attainable from Dublin as from Liverpool, and I have 
too many kind friends there, ever to forget the beau- 
tiful scenes in which I first knew them. Do not 
fancv that I was insensible to the external charms 
of Kinfauns, because the treasures of art within its 
walls were more attractive to me (who am passion- 
ately fond of such objects, and have had few oppor- 
tunities of gratifying my taste for them) than the 
hills and woods without. You should recollect that 
I have been almost cradled amidst scenes of beauty, 
and almost all the forms and colours of nature are 
familiar to me, but it is not so with those of art." 

Towards the latter end of April 1831, Mrs He- 
mans quitted England for the last time, and, after 
remaining for a few weeks in Dublin, proceeded to 
visit her brother, then residing at the Hermitage, 
near Kilkenny. " This," she wrote, " is a very 



236 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

pretty little spot, and I should be really sorry that my 
brother is to leave it in two or three months, were 
it not that the change will be one of great advantage 
to himself, as he is appointed to a trust of high 
responsibility. I have a blue mountain chain in sight 
of my window, and the voice of the river comes in 
to me delightfully. My health has been very un- 
settled, yet my friends are surprised to see me look- 
ing so well. I think that, on the whole, the soft 
climate agrees with me ; my greatest foe is * the 
over-beating of the heart.' My life in Dublin was 
what might have been expected — one of constant 
excitement, and more l broken into fragments' than 
ever. I very nearly gave up letter- writing in de- 
spair. I must, however, gratefully acknowledge, 
that I met there much true kindness. The state of 
the country here, though Kilkenny is considered at 
present tranquil, is certainly, to say the least of it, 
very ominous. We paid a visit yesterday evening 
at a clergyman's house about five miles hence, and 
found a guard of eight armed policemen stationed 
at the gate : the window-ledges were all provided 
with great stones for the convenience of hurling 
down upon assailants ; and the master of the house 
had not, for a fortnight, taken a walk without loaded 
pistols. You may imagine how the boys, who are 
all here for the holidays, were enchanted with this 
agreeable state of things ; indeed, I believe, they 
were not a little disappointed that we reached home 
without having sustained an attack from the White- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 237 

feet. Do not, however, suppose that we are in the 
least danger, though there seems just possibility of 
danger enough all round us, to keep up a little 
pleasant excitement — (the tabooed word again !) 
There is this peculiarity in Irish disturbances, that 
those who are not obnoxious, from party or political 
motives, to the people, have really nothing to fear ; 
and my brother is extremely popular. My sister-in- 
law and myself are often amused with the idea of 
what our English friends would think, did they 
know of our sitting, in this troubled land, with our 
doors and windows all open, till eleven o'clock at 
night." 

The extracts which follow, are from letters written 
at the same place. 

" I wish to give you an account of an interesting 
day I lately passed, before its images become faint 
in my recollection. We went to Woodstock, the 
place where the late Mrs Tighe, whose poetry has 
always been very touching to my feelings, passed the 
latest years of her life, and near which she is buried. 
The scenery of the place is magnificent ; of a style 
which, I think, I prefer to every other ; wild, pro- 
found glens, rich with every hue and form of foliage, 
and a rapid river sweeping through them, now lost, 
and now lighting up the deep woods with sudden 
flashes of its waves. Altogether, it reminded me 
more of Hawthornden than anything I have seen 
since, though it wants the solemn rock pinnacles of 



238 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

that romantic place. I wish I could have been alone 
with Nature and my thoughts ; but, to my surprise, 
I found myself the object of quite a reception. There 
was no help for it, though I never felt so much as if I 
wanted a large leaf to wrap me up and shelter me. 
Still, one cannot but feel grateful for kindness, and 
much was shown me. I should have told you that 
Woodstock is now the seat of Mr and Lady Louisa 
Tighe. Amongst other persons of the party was 
Mr Henry Tighe, the widower of the poetess. He 
had just been exercising, I found, one of his accom- 
plishments in the translation into Latin of a little 
poem of mine ; and I am told that his version is very 
elegant. We went to the tomb, e the grave of a 
poetess,' where there is a monument by Flaxman: 
it consists of a recumbent female figure, with much 
of the repose, the mysterious sweetness of happy 
death, which is to me so affecting in monumental 
sculpture. There is, however, a very small Titania- 
looking sort of figure with wings, sitting at the head 
of the sleeper, which I thought interfered with the 
singleness of effect which the tomb would have pro- 
duced : unfortunately, too, the monument is carved 
in very rough stone, which allows no delicacy of 
touch. That place of rest made me very thoughtful ; 
I could not but reflect on the many changes which 
had brought me to the spot I had commemorated 
three years since, without the slightest idea of ever 
visiting it ; and, though surrounded by attention and 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 239 

the appearance of interest, my heart was envying the 
repose of her who slept there."* 

" Mr Tighe has just sent me his Latin translation 
of my lines, ' The Graves of a Household.' It seems 
very elegant, as far as I can venture to judge, but 
what strikes me most is the concluding thought, (so 
peculiarly belonging to Christianity), and the ancient 
language in which it is thus embodied : — 
' Si nihil ulterius mundo, si sola voluptas 
Esset terrenis — quid feret omnis Amor ?' 

" I suppose the idea of an affection, powerful and 
spiritual enough to overcome the grave (of course 
the beauty of such an idea belongs not to me, but to 
the spirit of our faith), is not to be found in the 
loftiest strain of any classic writer." 

Under the influence of similar feelings with those 

* It is interesting to compare the ideal visit to u the grave 
of a poetess,'' described in the little poem so named in the 
Records of Woman, with the real one commemorated in the 
lines " Written after visiting a tomb near Woodstock," which 
were published in the National Lyrics. The same train of 
feeling maybe traced in both — the same "mournful iteration." 

" O love and song ! though of heaven your powers, 
Dark is your fate in this world of ours." 

But in each solemn picture, " the day-spring from on high'* 
breaks through the " mists of earth ;" and " visions of brighter 
things'* win us to heavenly contemplation. 

The sonnet M On Records of immature Genius," (published 
in Mrs Hemans's Poetical Remains), was written after reading 
some of the earlier poems of Mrs Tighe, which had been lent 
to her in MS. 



240 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

expressed in the last quotation, Mrs Hemans thus 
alluded to her own lyric — " The Death Song o£ 
Alcestis," which was written at this time. 

" It was with some difficulty that I refrained from 
making Alcestis express the hope of an immortal 
reunion : I know this would be out of character, and 
yet could scarcely imagine how love, so infinite in 
its nature, could ever have existed without the hope 
(even if undefined and unacknowledged) of a heavenly 
country, an unchangeable resting-place. This awoke 
in me many other thoughts with regard to the state 
of human affections, their hopes and their conflicts 
in the days of < the gay religions, full of pomp and 
gold,' which, offering, as they did, so much of grace 
and beauty to the imagination, yet held out so little 
comfort to the heart. Then I thought how much 
these affections owed to a deeper and more spiritual 
faith, to the idea of a God who knows all our in- 
ward struggles, and pities our sufferings. I think 
I shall weave all these ideas into another little poem, 
which I will call Love in the Ancient World"* 



" I do not think I mentioned to you having seen 

* This design was afterwards partly, and but partly, fulfilled, 
in the Antique Greek Lament, which was intended as one of a 
series of poems, illustrating the insufficiency of aught but Chris- 
tianity to heal and comfort the broken in heart ; and its all- 
sustaining aid to those, M who, going through this vale of misery, 
use it for a well." and apply to its living waters for " the 
strengthening and refreshing of their souls." 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 241 

at Woodstock a large and beautifully painted copy 
of Raphael's ' Great Madonna, 9 as it is called — the 
one at Dresden. I never was enabled to form so 
perfect an idea of this noble work before. The 
principal figure certainly looks like the * Queen of 
Heaven/ as she stands serenely upon her footstool of 
clouds ; but there is, I think, rather a want of human 
tenderness in her calm eyes, and on her regal brow. 
I visited yesterday another lovely place, some miles 
from us — Kilfane ; quite in a different style of beauty 
from Woodstock — soft, rich, and pastoral-looking. 
Such a tone of verdure, I think, I never beheld any 
where : It was quite an emerald darkness, a gorge- 
ous gloom brooding over velvet turf, and deep silent 
streams, from such trees as I could fancy might have 
grown in Armida's enchanted wood. Some swans 
upon the dark waters made me think of that line of 
Spenser's, in which he speaks of the fair Una, as 

* Making a sunshine in the shady place.' 
The graceful play of water-birds is always parti- 
cularly delightful to me ; — those bright creatures 
convey to my fancy a fuller impression of the joy of 
freedom than any others in nature — perhaps because 
they are lords of two elements." 



" I heard a beautiful remark made by the Chief- 
Justice, when I met him at Kilfane. I think it was 
with regard to some of Canova's beautiful sculpture 
in the room, that he said — * Is not perfection always 
affecting ? ' I thought he was quite right ; for the 
I. Q 



242 MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS, 

highest degree of beauty in any art certainly always 
excites, if not tears, at least the inward feeling of 
tears." * 



" I will now describe to you the scene I mentioned 
in my last letter, as having so much impressed me. 
It was a little green hill, rising darkly and abruptly 
against a very sunny background of sloping corn- 
fields and woods. It appeared smooth till near the 
summit, but was there crested — almost castellated 
indeed — by what I took for thickly-set, pointed 
rocks ; but, on a nearer approach, discovered to be 
old tomb-stones, forming quite a little i city of the 
silent.' I left our car to explore it, and discovered 
some ruins of a very affecting character : a small 
church laid open to the sky, forsaken and moss- 
grown ; its font lying overturned on the green sod ; 
some of the rude monuments themselves but ruins. 
One of these, which had fallen amongst thick heath 
and wild-flowers, was simply a wooden cross, with a 
female name, and the inscription — ( May her soul 
rest in peace ! ' You will not wonder at the feeling 
which prompted me to stoop and raise it up again. 
My memory will often revert to that lonely spot, 

* u Is that strong passion for intellectual beauty a happy or 
a mournful gift, when so out of harmony with the rest of our 
earthly lot? Sometimes I think of it in sadness, but oftener 
it seems to me as a sort of rainbow, made up of light and tears, 
yet still the pledge of happiness to come." — From one of Mrs 
Hemans's letters, written in 1829. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 243 

sacred to the hope of immortality, and touched by 
the deep quiet of the evening skies." 



" Kilkenny is a singular-looking old place, full of 
ruins, or rather fragments of ruins, bits of old towers 
and abbey-windows ; and its wild lazzaroni-looking 
population must, I should think, be tremendous when 
in a state of excitement. Many things in the condi- 
tion of this country, even during its present tem- 
porary quiet, are very painful to English feeling. 
It is scarcely possible to conceive bitterness and 
hatred existing in the human heart, when one sees 
nature smiling so brightly and so peacefully all 
around; and yet those dark feelings do exist here 
to a degree which I could not have credited ; and 
religious animosities are carried to a height which 
sometimes painfully reminds me of Moore's lines, 
where he speaks of the land in which 

* hearts fell off that ought to twine, 

And man profaned what God had given ; 
Till some were heard to curse the shrine, 
Where others knelt to Heaven.* " 

Early in the autumn of 1831, Mrs Hemans took 
up her abode in Dublin, where she at first resided 
in Upper Pembroke Street. The two elder boys of 
those still with her, had been already placed at school, 
under the care of the Rev. Dr Gwynne, of Castle- 
knock ; and her son Charles had the great privilege 
of having his education superintended by Mr (now 
the Reverend) R. P. Graves, then a student at Tri- 



244 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

nity College, from whose valuable instruction he 
derived advantages far more permanent and import- 
ant than any acquisitions of mere worldly learning. 
Mrs Hemans entered very little into the general so- 
ciety of Dublin, but enjoyed, with a few real and 
attached friends, that kindly intercourse most con- 
genial to her tastes and habits. Amongst these 
friends must be particularly mentioned the Graves 
family, their venerable relatives Dr* and Mrs Per- 
ceval, the household circle of Colonel D'Aguilar, and 
that of Professor, now Sir William Hamilton. 

From an early period of intimacy she received 
the most friendly attentions from the Archbishop of 
Dublin, and Mrs Whateley, whose subsequent kind- 
ness can never be forgotten ; and she had great 
interest and pleasure in the acquaintance of Mr 
Blanco White, who was at that time their inmate ; 
his delightful conversational powers yet unimpaired 

* The Sonnet " To an aged Friend," published in Mrs 

Hemans's Poetical Remabis, was addressed to Dr Perceval. 

Its beginning, — 

" Not long thy voice amongst us may be heard, 
Servant of God ! thy day is almost done," — 

must be read with affecting interest by those who know that 

that voice is still heard, though feebly and failingly — whilst 

the " daughter of Music" has long been laid low. The 

sonnet ■ To the Datura Arborca." in the same volume, was 

written after seeing a superb specimen of that striking plant, 

in Dr Perceval's beautiful greenhouse at Annefield. 

Dr Perceval died 3d March, 1839. shortly alter the above 

note was written. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 245 

by the infirm health which has now unfortunately 
withdrawn him from society. Few individuals, as she 
was herself always foremost to acknowledge, were 
ever blessed with more zealous and devoted friends 
than Mrs Hemans ; and if, in these slight memorials 
little has been said of the constant solace and sup- 
port she derived from the ministering affection of 
her brothers, it is because the gentle charities of 
domestic life are things too sacred to be held up to 
the public ; and because all who personally knew 
her, knew from her continual and grateful allusions 
to it, that their kindness was " a fountain" — 
" Whose only business was to flow, 
And flow it did ; not taking heed 
Of its own bounty, or her need ;" 

Soon after her establishment in the Irish capital, 
Mrs Hemans had an opportunity of hearing the 
wonderful performances of Paganini ; and how com- 
pletely she was wrought upon by the mighty master, 
will be seen by the following letters : — 

" To begin with the appearance of the foreign 
wonder. It is very different from what the indiscri- 
minating newspaper accounts would iead you to sup- 
pose : he is certainly singular-looking, pale, slight, 
and with long, neglected hair ; but I saw nothing 
whatever of that wild-fire, that almost ferocious in- 
spiration of mien, which has been ascribed to him. 
Indeed, I thought the expression of his countenance 
rather that of good-natured and mild e?ijouement, than 
of any thing else ; and his bearing altogether simple 
and natural. His first performance consisted of a 



246 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

Tema with variations, from the beautiful Preghiera 
in < Mose ; ' here I was rather disappointed, but 
merely because he did not play alone. I suppose the 
performance on the single string required the sup- 
port of other instruments ; but he occasionally drew 
from that string a tone of wailing, heart-piercing 
tenderness, almost too much to be sustained by any 
one whose soul can give the full response. It was 
not, however, till his second performance, on all the 
strings, that I could form a full idea of his varied 
magic. A very delicate accompaniment on the piano 
did not in the least interfere with the singleness of 
effect in this instance. The subject was the Venetian 
air < Oh ! come to me when daylight sets. ' How 
shall I give you an idea of all the versatility, the play 
of soul, embodied in the variations upon that simple 
air ? Imagine a passage of the most fairy-like deli- 
cacy, more aerial than you would suppose it possible 
for human touch to produce, suddenly succeeded by 
an absolute parody of itself ; the same notes repeated 
with an expression of really comic humour, which 
forced me to laugh, however reluctantly. It was as 
if an old man, the ' Ancient Mariner' himself, were 
to sing an impassioned Italian air, in a snoring voice, 
after Pasta. Well, after one of these sudden tra- 
vesties,* for I can call them nothing else, the creature 
would look all around him, with an air of the most 
delighted bonhom?iiie, exactly like a witty child, who 
has just accomplished a piece of successful mischief. 

* Wordsworth. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 247 

The pizzicato passages were also wonderful ; the 
indescribably rapid notes seemed flung out in sparks 
of music, with a triumphant glee which conveys the 
strongest impression I ever received, of genius re- 
joicing over its own bright creations. But I vainly 
wish that my words could impart to you a full con- 
ception of this wizard-like music. 

" There was nothing else of particular interest in 
the evening's performance : — a good deal of silvery 
warbling from Stockhausen ; but I never find it leave 
any more vivid remembrance on my mind than the 
singing of birds. I am wrong, however ; I must ex- 
cept one thing, < Napoleon's Midnight Review,' the 
music of which, by Neukomm, I thought superb. 
The words are translated from the German : they 
describe the hollow sound of a drum at midnight, 
and the peal of a ghostly trumpet, arousing the dead 
hosts of Napoleon from their sleep under the north- 
ern snows, and along the Egyptian sands, and in the 
sunny fields of Italy. Then another trumpet-blast, 
and the chief himself arises, ' with his martial cloak 
around him/ to review the whole army ; and thus it 
concludes — ■ 

* * France ! ' 'tis their watchword ; and again, 
The password, ' St Helene ! ' * 

The music, which is of a very wild, supernatural char- 
acter, a good deal in Weber's incantation style, accords 
well with this grand idea : the single trumpet, follow- 
ed by a long, rolling, ominous sound from the double 
drum, made me quite thrill with indefinable feelings. 



248 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" I inclose you a programme of the concert at 
which I again heard this triumphant music last 
night. It is impossible for me to describe how 
much of intense feeling its full- swelling dreamy tones 
awoke within me. His second performance (the 
Adagio a doppio corde) made me imagine that I was 
then first wakening in what a German would call the 
6 music-land.' Its predominant expression was that 
of overpowering, passionate regret ; such, at least, 
was the dying languor of the long sostenuto notes, 
that it seemed as if the musician was himself about 
to let fall his instrument, and sink under the mastery 
of his own emotion. It reminded me, by some secret 
and strange analogy, of a statue I once described 
to you, representing Sappho about to drop her lyre, 
in utter desolation of heart. This was immediately 
followed by the rapid, flashing music — for the strings 
were as if they sent out lightning in their glee — of the 
most joyous rondo by Kreutzer you can imagine. 
The last piece, the ' Dance of the Witches, ' is a 
complete exemplification of the grotesque in music. 
Some parts of it imitate the quavering, garrulous 
voices of very old women, half-scolding, half-com- 
plaining, and then would come a burst of wild, fantas- 
tic, half-fearful gladness. I think Burns's < Tarn 
O'Shanter ' (not Mr Thorn's — by way of contrast to 
Sappho), something of a parallel in poetry to this 
strange production in music. I saw more of Paganini's 
countenance last night, and was still more pleased 
with it than before ; the original mould in which it 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMAN8. 249 

has been cast, is of a decidedly fine and intellectual 
character, though the features are so worn by the 
wasting fire which appears his vital element." 



" I did not hear Paganini again after the perfor- 
mance I described to you, but I have received a very 
eloquent description of a subsequent triumph of his 
genius. It was a concerto, of a dramatic character, 
and intended, as I was told, to embody the little tale 
of a wanderer sinking to sleep in a solitary place at 
midnight. He is supposed to be visited by a solemn 
and impressive vision, imaged in music of the most 
thrilling style. Then, after all his lonely fears and 
wild fantasies, the day-spring breaks upon him in a 
triumphant rondo, and all is joy and gladness." 

" related to me a most interesting conver- 
sation he had held with Paganini in a private circle. 
The latter was describing to him the sufferings (do 
you remember a line of Byron's, 

■ The starry Galileo, with his woes ?') 
by which he pays for his consummate excellence. He 
scarcely knows what sleep is, and his nerves are 
wrought to such almost preternatural acuteness, that 
harsh, even common sounds, are often torture to 
him : he is sometimes unable to bear a whisper in his 
room. His passion for music he described as an all- 
absorbing, a consuming one : in fact, he looks as if 
no other life than that ethereal one of melody were 
circulating in his viens : but he added, with a glow 
of triumph kindling through deep sadness — ' mats 



250 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

c'est un don du del. ' I heard all this, which was no 
more than I had fully imagined, with a still deepening 
conviction, that it is the gifted, beyond all others — 
those whom the multitude believe to be rejoicing in 
their own fame, strong in their own resources — who 
have most need of true hearts to rest upon, and of 
hope in God to support them." 

In the course of the same autumn, Mrs Hemans 
made an excursion into the County of Wicklow, 
some records of which appear in the following ex- 
tracts : 

" I was very unwell for some days after my arrival 
here, as the mountains gave me such a stormy re- 
ception, that I reached this place with the dripping 
locks of a mermaid, and never was in a condition so 
utterly desolate. In the midst of my annoyances 
from the rain and storm, I was struck by one beau- 
tiful effect upon the hills ; it was produced by a 
rainbow diving down into a gloomy mountain pass, 
which it seemed really to flood with its coloured 
glory. I could not help thinking that it was like 
our religion, piercing and carrying brightness into 
the depth of sorrow and of the tomb. All the rest 
of the scene around that one illumined spot, was 
wrapt in the most lowering darkness. My impres- 
sions of the country here have not hitherto been very 
bright ones ; but I will not yet judge of it : — the 
weather is most unfavourable, and I have not quite 
recovered the effect of my first day's adventures. 
The day before yesterday we visited the Vale of the 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 251 

Seven Churches and Lake Glendalough ; the day 
was one of a kind which I like — soft, still, and grey, 
— such as makes the earth appear ' a pensive but 
a happy place. ' I was a little disappointed in the 
scenery. I think it possesses much more for the 
imagination than the eye, though there are certainly 
some striking points of view ; particularly that where 
* a round tower of other days ' rises amidst the re- 
mains of three churches, the principal one of which 
(considered, I find, as quite the Holy of Holies), is 
thickly surrounded with tombs. I was also much 
pleased with a little wild waterfall, quite buried 
among the trees. Its many cascades fell into pools 
of a dark green transparency, and in one of these I 
observed what seemed to me a remarkable effect. 
The body of water threw itself into its deep bed with 
scarcely any spray, and left an almost smooth and 
clear surface, through which, as if through ice, I saw 
its foamy clouds rising and working tumultuously 
from beneath. In following the course of this fall, 
down very slippery, mossy stones, I received from 
our guide (a female), the very flattering compliment 
of being c the most courageousest and lightest-foot- 
edest lady ' she had ever conducted there. We 
afterwards went upon the lake, the dark waters and 
treeless shores of which have something impressive 
in their stern desolation, though I do not think the 
rocks quite high enough for grandeur. Several 
parties have been arranged for me to visit other 
celebrated scenes in the neighbourhood, but I do not 



252 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

think that St Kevin, who, I suppose, presides over 
the weather here, seems more propitious to female 
intrusion than of old/' 



" It is time that I should tell you something of my 
adventures among these wild hills since I last wrote. 
I must own that the scenery still disappoints me, 
though I do not dare to make the confession openly. 
There certainly are scenes of beauty, lying deep, like 
veins of gold, in the heart of the country, but they 
must, like those veins, be sought through much that 
is dreary and desolate. I have been more struck 
with the Devil's Glen (I wish it had any other name), 
than all the other spots I have visited ; it is certainly 
a noble ravine, a place where you might imagine the 
mountain Christians of old making their last stand, 
fighting the last battle of their faith — a deep glen 
of rocks, cleft all through by a sounding stream, of 
that clear brown c cairn-gorm ' colour, which I 
think Sir Walter somewhere describes as being 
among the characteristics of mountain waters. 

" To-day has been one of most perfect loveliness. 
I enjoyed the change of the wild rough mountains 
for the softer wood landscapes, as we approached 
Powerscourt. I think I love wood scenery best of 
all others, for its kindly look of shelter." 



" I returned to the country,'' wrote Mrs Hemans, 
after this excursion, " rather wearied than refreshed, 
as I unfortunately found myself an object of much 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 253 

curiosity, and, in gratitude I ought to add, attention ; 
still it fatigued my spirits, which were longing for 
full and quiet communion with nature. On my re- 
turn to Dublin, I became a sufferer from the longest 
and severest attack of heart palpitation I have ever 
experienced ; it was accompanied by almost daily 
fainting fits, and a languor quite indescribable. 
From this state I have again arisen, and that with an 
elasticity which has surprised myself." 

A few weeks afterwards she thus wrote of her- 
self:— 

" Your kind long letter found me quite alone : my 
brother had taken my elder boys to pass their holi- 
days at Killaloe, and even little Charles was gone on 
a visit for a few days, which I could not be selfish 
enough to refuse him. But I can give you a better 
account of myself than has for a long time been in 
my power : my spirits and health are both greatly 
revived ; and though I am yet unequal to any con- 
tinuous exertion of mind, still I am not without hope, 
that if I go on improving, all my energies may be 
restored to me." 

^F 7& TfT vfc 7?» 

" You ask me what I have been reading lately: 
the access to new books here is not nearly as easy as 
in England, at least for me ; and, in consequence, 
I have been much thrown back upon our old friends, 
especially the Germans — Goethe, and Schiller, and 
Oehlenschlager more particularly — and 1 think I love 
them more and more for every perusal, so that I can- 



254 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

not regret the causes which have rendered my con- 
nexion with them more intimate than ever." 

The improved health announced in the above let- 
ter, was, unfortunately, of very short continuance. 
In another, written not long afterwards, she de- 
scribes herself as having just recovered from " a 
weary low fever, from which I think I should 
scarcely have revived, had not my spirits been calmer, 
and my mind happier, than has for some years 
been the case. During part of the time, when I 
could neither read nor listen to reading, I lay very 
meekly upon the sofa, reciting to myself almost all 
the poetry I have ever read. I composed two or 
three melodies also, but having no one here who can 
help me to catch the fugitives, they have taken flight 
irrecoverably. I have lately written what I consider 
one of my best pieces — < A Poet's dying Hymn/ 
It appeared in the last number of Blackwood" 



It is impossible to read this affecting poem with- 
out feeling how distinctly it breathes the inward 
echoes of the soul to the frequent warnings of the 
Sum m oner ; those presentiments which must have 
long silently possessed her, here for the first time 
finding utterance. Still more strongly does it evi- 
dence that subdued and serene frame of mind, into 
which her once vivacious temperament and painfully 
vibrating sensibilities were now so gently and hap- 
pily subsiding. A delight in sacred literature, and 
particularly in the writings of some of our old di- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 255 

vines, became from henceforward her predominant 
taste ; and her earnest and diligent study of the 
Scriptures was a well-spring of daily increasing com- 
fort. In these pursuits she derived invaluable as- 
sistance and encouragement from the friend already 
mentioned as so kindly directing the education of 
her son Charles. She now sought no longer to for- 
get her trials — (" wild wish and longing vain !" as 
such attempts must ever have proved) — but rather to 
contemplate them through the only true and recon- 
ciling medium ; and that relief from sorrow and 
suffering for which she had once been apt to turn to 
the fictitious world of imagination, was now afforded 
her by calm and constant meditation on what can 
alone be called " the things that are." 

It was about this time that a circumstance oc- 
curred, by which Mrs Hemans was greatly affected 
and impressed. A stranger one day called at her 
house, and begged earnestly to see her. She was 
then just recovering from one of her frequent ill- 
nesses, and was obliged to decline the visits of all 
but her immediate friends. The applicant was 
therefore told that she was unable to receive him ; 
but he persisted in entreating for a few minutes' 
audience, with such urgent importunity, that at 
last the point was conceded. The moment he was 
admitted, the gentleman (for such his manner and 
appearance declared him to be) explained, in words 
and tones of the deepest feeling, that the object of 
his visit was to acknowledge a debt of obligation 



256 MEMOIR OF MRS REMANS. 

which he could not rest satisfied without avowing — 
that to her he owed, in the first instance, that faith 
and those hopes which were now more precious to 
him than life itself ; for that it was by reading her 
poem of The Sceptic he had been first awakened 
from the miserable delusions of infidelity, and 
induced to " search the Scriptures." Having poured 
forth his thanks and benedictions in an uncontrol- 
lable gush of emotion, this strange but interesting 
visitant took his departure, leaving her overwhelmed 
with a mingled sense of joyful gratitude and wonder- 
ing humility. 

The following letter was written during the 
awful visitation of cholera in Dublin, in the sum- 
mer of 1832: — " I cannot describe to you the 
strange thrill that came over me, when, on acci- 
dentally going to the window yesterday, I saw one 
of the black covered litters, which convey the cho- 
lera patients to the hospital, passing by, followed 
by policemen with sabres in their hands. This last 
precaution is necessary to guard the litters from the 
infatuated populace, who imagine that the phy- 
sicians are carrying on some nefarious work 
(smothering is, I believe, their favourite theory) 
within the vehicle. But the sight I have described 
to you was so like the actual presence of some dark 
power sweeping past, that I was for the moment, 
completely overcome ; — and oh ! the strange con- 
trasts of Life ! there were May-dancers in the street 
scarcely a moment afterwards ! Notwithstanding 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 257 

the sick sensation of which I have spoken, my spirits 
are perfectly composed, and I have not the least in- 
tention of taking flight, which many families are now 
doing. To me there is something extremely solem- 
nizing, something which at once awes and calms the 
spirit, instead of agitating it, in the presence of this 
viewless danger, between which and ourselves, we 
cannot but feel that the only barrier is the mercy 
of God. I never felt so penetrated by the sense of 
an entire dependence upon Him ; and though I 
adopt some necessary precautions on account of 
Charles, my mind is in a state of entire serenity." 

The difficulty of keeping up any thing like regu- 
lar correspondence, and the fear that her old friends 
might consequently think her negligent or ungrate- 
ful, would press upon her, at times, very painfully. 

" You have judged me rightly and kindly," she 
wrote to one always considerate and indulgent. 
" I should have written to you before, but I have 
been in a state which made writing most painful, 
and you know too well how the calls for writing 
shower upon me — sometimes till my heart dies with- 
in me : and what I dread most are the reproaches 
of those who know not how the unsupported and 
lonely one is often borne down. The state of nerv- 
ous suffering through which I have passed, is now 
again quietly subsiding. Yesterday I was able to 
go to church and receive the sacrament, and to- 
day, I am commencing an undertaking of which I 
think you will hear with pleasure — a volume of 

I. R 



258 MEMOIR OF MRS REMANS. 

sacred poetry. My heart is much in it, and I hope 
to enshrine in its pages whatever I may have heen 
endowed with of power and melody ; so that, should 
it be my last work, it may be a worthy close. I was 
grieved to hear that our dear, kind Nortons had 
been so severely tried ; * but they are still blessed in 
each other — and what earthly happiness can equal, 
what earthly sorrow counterbalance, that ' full bliss 
of hearts allied?' None — there is none. Do say 
how affectionately I think of them — how gratefully ; 
— but it is vain for me, situated as I am, to think of 
keeping up distant correspondences. My burthen 
is, in these things, < greater than I can bear.' 

" I have removed here (36, Stephen's Green), 
much for the sake of having back rooms, as I suf- 
fered greatly from the street noises, where I lived 
before." 



" I have been in a state of great nervous suffering 
ever since I last wrote to you ; it is as if I felt, 
and more particularly heard, every thing with un- 
sheathed nerves. 

" There is a line of Coleridge's — 

' Oh ! for a sleep, for sleep itself to rest in !' 

I believe I shall require some such quintessence of 
repose to restore me. I have several literary plans 
for fulfilment as soon as my health allows. I enjoy 

* By the loss of children, and other dear relatives. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 259 

much more leisure here than was the case in Eng- 
land, which is at least one great advantage. 

" My state of health is such as to cause me fre- 
quently great distress and inconvenience. I do not 
mean so much from the actual suffering attendant 
upon it, as from its making the exertion of writing 
at times not merely irksome, but positively painful 
to me ; this is, I believe, caused entirely by irregular 
action of the heart, which affects my head with op- 
pressive fulness, and sudden flushing of the cheeks 
and temples. All my pursuits are thus constantly in- 
terfered with ; but I do not wish this to convey to you 
the language of complaint ; I am only anxious that it 
should give assurance of kind and grateful recollec- 
tion ; that it should convince you of my being un- 
changed in cordial interest, and silent only from 
causes beyond my power to overrule." 



" In my literary pursuits, I fear I shall be obliged 
to look out for a regular amanuensis. I sometimes 
retain a piece of poetry several weeks in my memory, 
from actual dread of writing it down. 

" How sorry I was, not to see your friend Neu- 
komm! We were playing at cross-purposes the 
whole time of his stay in Dublin ; but I did hear 
his organ-playing, and glorious it was — a mingling 
of many powers. I sent, too, for the volume you 
recommended to me — the Saturday Evening: — 
surely it is a noble work, so rich in the thoughts 
that create thoughts* I am so glad you liked my little 



260 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

summer-breathing song.* I assure you it quite con- 
soled me for the want of natural objects of beauty 
around, to heap up their remembered images in one 
wild strain." 

The mention of Neukomm's magnificent organ- 
playing brings to remembrance one great enjoyment 
of Mrs Hemans's residence in Dublin — the exquisite 
" Music of St Patrick's/ 1 of which she has recorded 
her impressions in the little poem so entitled. Its 
effect is, indeed, such as, once heard, can never be 
forgotten. If ever earthly music can be satisfying, 
it must surely be such as this, bringing home to our 
bosoms the solemn beauty of our own holy liturgy, 
with all its precious and endeared associations, in 
tones that make the heart swell with ecstasy, and 
the eyes overflow with unbidden tears. There was 

* " The Summer's Call." This faculty for realising images 
of the distant and the beautiful, amidst outward circumstances 
of apparently the most adverse influence, is thus gracefully 
illustrated by Washington Irving in the " Royal Poet" of his 
Sketch-book: — " Some minds corrode and grow inactive under 
the loss of personal liberty ; others grow morbid and irritable ; 
but it is the nature of the poet to become tender and imagina- 
tive in the loneliness of confinement. He banquets upon the 
honey of his own thoughts, and, like the captive bird, pours 
forth his soul in melody. 

' Have you not seen the nightingale, 
A pilgrim cooped into a cage, 
How doth she chant her wonted tale, 
In that her lonely hermitage ? 
Even there her charming melody doth prove, 
That all her boughs are trees, her cage a grove.' " 

Roger L'Estrange. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 261 

one anthem, frequently heard within those ancient 
walls, which Mrs Hemans used to speak of with 
peculiar enthusiasm — that from the 3d Psalm — 
" Lord, how are they increased that trouble me ! " 
The consummate skill exhibited in the adaptation 
of sound to sense in this noble composition, is, in 
truth, most admirable. The symphony to the 5th 
verse — " I laid me down and slept " — with its soft, 
dreamy vibrations, gentle as the hovering of an 
angel's wing — the utter abandon, the melting into 
slumber — implied by the half- whispered words, that 
come breathing as from a world of spirits, almost 
" steep the senses in forgetfulness ;" when a sudden 
outbreak, as it were, of life and light, bursts forth 
with the glad announcement, " I awaked, for the 
Lord sustained me ; " and then the old sombre arches 
ring with an almost overpowering peal of triumph, 
bearing to Heaven's gate the exulting chorus of the 
6th and 8th verses. 

The spring of 1833 brought somewhat of "heal- 
Indeed, it is the divine attribute of the imagination, that it 
is irrepressible, unconfinable ; and that when the real world is 
shut out, it can create a world for itself, and with a necroman- 
tic power can conjure up glorious shapes and forms, and irra- 
diate the gloom of the dungeon. Such was the world of pomp 
and pageant that lived round Tasso in his dismal cell at Fer- 
rara, when he conceived the splendid scenes of his Jerusa- 
lem; and we may consider The King's Quair, composed 
by James of Scotland during his captivity at Windsor, as an- 
other of those beautiful breakings forth of the soul from the 
restraint and gloom of the prison-house." 



262 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

ing on its wings," to the gentle invalid, after all the 
distressing fluctuations of the winter. " I am sure," 
she wrote, "you will have real pleasure in hearing 
that I begin to feel something like symptoms of re- 
viving health ; perseverance in the quiescent system, 
which seems almost essential to my life, is produ- 
cing, by slow degrees, the desired effect. You must 
not think that it is my own fault if this system is 
ever departed from. I desire nothing but a still, 
calm, meditative life ; but this is exactly what my 
position, obliged as I am to ' breast a stormy world 
alone/ most precludes me from. Hence, I truly 
believe, and from no original disorder of constitu- 
tion, arises all that I have to bear of sickness and 
nervous agitation. Certainly, before this last and 
severest attack, I had gone through enough of an- 
noyance, and even personal fatigue, to try a far more 
robust frame. Imagine three removals, and those 
Irish removals, for me, between October and Janu- 
ary. Each was unavoidable ; but I am now, I ti ust, 
settled with people of more civilized habits, and think 
myself likely to remain here quietly.* How difficult 
it is, amidst these weary, heart-wearing, narrow 
cares, to keep bright and pure the immortal spark 
within ! Yet I strive above all things to be true in 
this, and turn with even deeper and more unswerv- 
ing love to the holy < Spirit-land/ and guard it, with 

* This expectation was fully realized. The house to which 
she had now removed (No. 20, Dawson Street) was destined 
to be her last earthly home. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 263 

more and more of watchful care, from the intrusion 
of all that is heartless and worldly." 

There was, indeed, no fear that she would ever 
become " heartless or worldly." No part of her 
character was more remarkable than her placid in- 
difference to those trifling annoyances, about which 
the unoccupied and the narrow-minded are for ever 
" disquieting themselves in vain." She would often 
quote the words of Madame l'Espinasse — " Un grand 
chagrin tue tout le reste." " You know it is part of 
my philosophy," she once wrote, in allusion to some 
such every-day troubles, " not to let these kind of 
things prey upon my peace. Indeed, I believe, deep 
sorrows, such as have been my lot through life, have 
not only a tendency to elevate, but in some respects 
to calm the spirit ; at least they so fill it, as to pre- 
vent the intrusion of little fretting cares. I have an 
ample share of these too, but they shall not fret me." 

It is scarcely necessary to dwell more emphatically 
than has been already done, on another strong trait 
in her nature — her unfeigned dislike to every thing 
approaching invidious personality — to gossip, lite- 
rary or otherwise, in any shape, however modified 
or disguised. Most warmly did she echo the senti- 
ment of Mr Wordsworth — 

" I am not one who much or oft delight 
To season my fireside with personal talk 
Of friends who live within an easy walk, 
Of neighbours, daily, weekly in my sight." 

The following passage from Madame de StaeFs 



264 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

Allemagne might, with perfect truth, have been 
applied to her, exemplifying, as it does, the natural 
kindliness (resulting from real superiority) which is, 
or ought to be, the unfailing attribute of genius, 
and which may perhaps be considered as a counter- 
balancing prerogative for that vain, quenchless yearn- 
ing for sympathy which is but too often its penalty. 
" II y a quelquefois de la mechancete dans les gens 
d'esprit; mais le genie est presque toujours plein 
de bonte. La mechancete vient non pas de ce qu'on 
a trop d'esprit, mais de ce qu'on n'a pas assez. Si 
Ton pouvait parler des ides, on laisserait en paix les 
personnes ; si Ton se croyait assure de l'emporter 
sur les autres par ses talens naturels, on ne cherche- 
rait pas a niveler le parterre sur lequel on veut do- 
miner. II y a des mediocrites d'ames deguisees en 
esprit piquant et malicieux; mais la vraie superi- 
ority est ravonnante de bons sentimens comme de 
hautes pensees." 

" Do not be surprised at these pencilled charac- 
ters," wrote Mrs Hemans to a friend, after a long 
silence. "lam obliged to write in a reclining posture, 
and can only accomplish it by these means, without 
much suffering. I pass a great deal of my time lying 
on the sofa, and composing my sacred pieces, in which 
I do hope you will recognise the growth of a more 
healthful and sustained power of mind, which I trust 
is springing up within me, even from the elements 
of deepest suffering. I fear it will be some time be- 
fore I shall have completed a volume, as, notwith- 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 265 

standing" all the retirement in which I live, I have, I 
think, more claims upon my time and thoughts than 
ever \ and, alas ! fewer helps, to use the expressive 
American word." 

In reference to a project for having one of her sons 
initiated into mercantile pursuits, she thus touch- 
ingly alludes to her own precarious state : — "I 
know not that I can make for him any better choice ; 
and the many warnings which my health gives me, 
and the increasing reluctance of my spirit (which 
seems withdrawing itself more and more from earthly 
things as my health declines) to cope with worldly 
difficulties, make me very anxious to do what I can, 
< whilst it is yet day.' " * 

* In alluding to the same subject some time afterwards, she 
thus expressed herself to a long-tried friend : — " You have 
heard, I conclude, that a path has been opened for Claude in 
America, for which land the poor fellow sailed last May. I the 
less regretted his destination thitherward, as his inclinations had 
always been pointed decidedly to that country. I dare say you 
remember his statistical tastes in early childhood ; they conti- 
nued, or indeed rather grew upon him, and rendered him far 
more fit for such a scene of action than any of his brothers." 
In the same letter she spoke with maternal pride and fondness 
of her son Willoughby (the " little George," of former days), 
then lately returned from the Military College at Soreze, and 
engaged on the Ordnance Survey in the North of Ireland. 
*' His superiors," she wrote, " make the best reports of him. 
He never loses an opportunity of writing me the most affection- 
ate letters, and takes a delight in my poetry, which, I trust, 
may be attended with better and higher results than those of 
mere delight." 



266 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

The following was addressed to a dear friend in 
Scotland : — " I could not but feel much affected by 
your account of the visit to the tomb of your dear 
children. A peculiar feeling mingled, however, with 
my sympathy ; — to me there seems something almost 
blessed, and holy, and tranquillizing, in our sorrow 
for the dead — so heart-rending are at times the 
struggles caused by our passionate affections for the 
living. With those who are gone, * the future can- 
not contradict the past ; ' and, where no self-reproach 
is connected with the memory of former intercourse, 
the thoughts arising from their graves must all tend 
to elevate our nature to the Father of Spirits. Your 
description of your dear sister's life and death, was 
fall of beauty. I remembered well the lovely pic- 
ture I had seen of her in Edinburgh ; her mind must 
indeed have resembled that sweet and radiant coun- 
tenance. Such a loss may well have left a void place 
in the circle of which she was the central light. 

" Alas, for our dear old friend, Sir Robert Lis- 
ton ! and the lovely Milburn, with all its rich array of 
flowers ! I think I could scarcely bear to look on 
that place again, where I have been so happy. 

" I sincerely hope my kind friends the Alisons are 
not to be visited by any more domestic trials. What 
a shock was the removal of that bright, affectionate 
spirit, Dr James Gregory ! Oh, what would this 
world be, but for the reflected light from another!" 

The autumn of this year (1833) witnessed a 
happy meeting between Mrs Hemans and her sister 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 267 

and brother-in-law, after a five years' separation. 
The ravages of sickness on her worn and faded 
form were painfully apparent to those who had not 
seen her for so long; yet her spirits rallied to all 
their wonted cheerfulness, and the powers of her 
mind seemed more vivid and vigorous than ever. 
With all her own cordial kindliness, she busied her- 
self in forming various plans for the interest and 
amusement of her visitors ; and many happy hours 
of delightful converse and old home communion were 
passed by her and her sister in her two favourite 
resorts, the lawn of the once stately mansion of the 
Duke of Leinster (now occupied by the Dublin 
Society), and the spacious gardens of Stephen's 
Green, which, at certain times of the day, are almost 
as retired as a private pleasure-ground. There was 
something in the antique and foreign appearance of 
this fine old square, which made her prefer it to all 
the magnificence of modern architecture, so con- 
spicuous in other parts of Dublin ; and she would 
describe, with much animation, the striking effect 
she had often seen produced by the picturesque and 
quaint outlines of its irregular buildings, thrown 
into dark relief by the fiery back-ground of a sunset 
sky. She spoke at this time, with steadfast earnest- 
ness of purpose, of the many projects with which her 
mind was stored, referring to them all in the same 
spirit which dictated, not long afterwards, what may 
be considered as a lasting record of the intended 
dedication of her powers, had it pleased God to allow 



268 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

of her continuance in this imperfect state of being. 
" I have now," are her memorable words, " passed 
through the feverish and somewhat visionary state 
of mind, often connected with the passionate study 
of art in early life : deep affections and deep sorrows 
seem to have solemnized my whole being, and I now 
feel as if bound to higher and holier tasks, which, 
though I may occasionally lay aside, I could not long 
wander from without some sense of dereliction. I 
hope it is no self-delusion, but I cannot help some- 
times feeling as if it were my true task to enlarge 
the sphere of sacred poetry, and extend its influ- 
ence. When you receive my volume of Scenes and 
Hymns, you will see what I mean by enlarging its 
sphere, though my plans are as yet imperfectly de- 
veloped." 

In another letter, alluding to the same series of 
poems, she continues thus : — " I regard, it, however, 
as an undertaking to be carried on and thoroughly 
wrought out during several years ; as the more I 
look for indications of the connexion between the 
human spirit and its eternal source, the more exten- 
sively I see those traces open before me, and the 
more indelibly they appear stamped upon our mys- 
terious nature. I cannot but think that my mind 
has both expanded and strengthened during the con- 
templation of such things, and that it will thus by 
degrees arise to a higher and purer sphere of action 
than it has yet known. If any years of peace and 
affection be granted to my future life, I think I may 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 269 

prove that the discipline of storms has, at least, 
not been without a purifying and ennobling influ- 
ence." 

Early in the year 1834, the little volume of Hymns 
for Childhood (which, though written many years 
before, had never been published in England)* was 
brought out by Messrs Curry of Dublin, who were 
also the publishers of the National Lyrics, which 
appeared in a collected form about the same time. 
Of the latter, Mrs Hemans thus wrote to her friend 
Mrs Lawrence, in the note which accompanied the 
volume: — iC I think you will love my little book, 
though it contains but the broken music of a troubled 
heart — for all the hours it will recall to you beam 
fresh and bright as ever in my memory, though I 
have passed through but too many of sad and deep 
excitement, since that period." f 

And of what she called " the fairy volume of 
hymns," she wrote to the same friend : — " you will 
immediately see how unpretending a little book it is ; 
but it will give you pleasure to know that it has been 
received in the most gratifying manner, having 

* They had been printed at Boston, New England, in 1827, 
at the recommendation, and under the kind auspices of Pro- 
fessor Norton, to whom they had been sent merely for the use 
of his own children. 

f Some of the most interesting pieces in this volume are 
connected with associations of Wavertree Hall ; particularly, 
" Books and Flowers," " The Haunted House," and " O'Con- 
nor's Child." 



270 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

seemed (as a playful child itself might have done) 
to win criticism into a benignant smile." 

The long- contemplated collection of Scenes and 
Hymns of Life was published soon after the two 
little volumes above alluded to. In her original 
dedication of this work to Mr Wordsworth, Mrs 
Hemans had given free scope to the expression of 
her sentiments* not only of veneration for the poet, 
but of deep and grateful regard for the friend. 
From a fear, however, that delicacy on Mr Words- 
worth's part might prevent his wishing to receive in 
a public form, a testimonial of so much private feel- 
ing from a living individual, the intended letter was 
suppressed, and its substantial ideas conveyed in the 
brief inscription which was finally prefixed to the 
volume. It is now hoped that all such objections 
to its publication have vanished, and that the revered 
friend to whom it was addressed, will receive it as 
the heart-tribute of one to whom flattery was un- 
known — .as consecrated by the solemn truth of a 
voice from the grave. 

Intended Dedication of the " Scenes and Hymns of 
Life" to William Wordsworth, Esq. 

" My dear Sir, 

" I earnestly wish that the little volume here in- 
scribed to you, in token of affectionate veneration, 
were pervaded by more numerous traces of those 
strengthening and elevating influences which breathe 
from all your poetry i a power to virtue friendly.' 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 271 

I wish, too, that such a token could more adequately 
convey my deep sense of gratitude for moral and 
intellectual benefit long derived from the study of 
that poetry — for the perpetual fountains of ' serious 
faith and inward glee ' which I have never failed to 
discover amidst its pure and lofty regions — for the 
fresh green places of refuge which it has offered me 
in many an hour when 

* The fretful stir 

Unprofitable, and the fever of the world 
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart;* 

and when 1 have found in your thoughts and images 
such relief as the vision of your < Sylvan Wye,' 
may, at similar times, have afforded to yourself. 

" May I be permitted, on the present occasion, to 
record my unfading recollections of enjoyment from 
your society — of delight in having heard from your 
own lips, and amidst your own lovely mountain-land, 
many of those compositions, the remembrance of 
which will ever spread over its hills and waters a 
softer colouring of spiritual beauty ? Let me also 
express to you, as to a dear and most honoured 
friend, my fervent wishes for your long enjoyment 
of a widely-extended influence, which cannot but be 
blessed — of a domestic life, encircling you with yet 
nearer and deeper sources of happiness; and of 
those eternal hopes, on whose foundation you have 
built, as a Christian poet, the noble structure of 
your works. 

" I rely upon your kindness, my dear Sir, for an 



272 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

indulgent reception of my offering, however lowly, 
since you will feel assured of the sincerity with 
which it is presented by 

" Your ever grateful and affectionate 

" Feeicia Hemans." 

The manner in which this work was received, was 
calculated to inspire its author with every feeling 
of emulation and encouragement. " I find in the 
AthencBum of last week," she wrote, " a brief, but 
very satisfactory notice of the Scenes and Hymns. 
The volume is recognised as my best work, and the 
course it opens out called < a noble path/ My 
heart is growing faint — shall I have power given me 
to tread that way much further ? I trust that God 
may make me at least submissive to his will, what- 
ever that may be." 

One of the many literary projects contemplated 
by Mrs Hemans at this time, was a series of German 
studies, consisting of translations of scenes and 
passages from some of the most celebrated German 
authors, introduced and connected by illustrative 
remarks. The only one of these papers which she 
ever completed, was that on Goethe's Tasso, pub- 
lished in the New Monthly Magazine for January, 
1834 ; a paper which well deserves attention, as it 
embodies so much of her individual feeling with re- 
spect to the high and sacred mission of the Poet ; 
as well as regarding that mysterious analogy between 
the outer world of nature and the inner world of the 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 273 

heart, which it was so peculiarly the tendency of her 
writings to develope. " Not alone," to quote her 
own words, " from the things of the ' everlasting 
hills,' from the storms or the silence of midnight 
skies, will he [the poet] seek the grandeur and the 
beauty which have their central residence in a far 
more majestic temple. Mountains and rivers, and 
mighty woods, the cathedrals of nature — these will 
have their part in his pictures ; but their colouring 
and shadows will not be wholly the gift of rising or 
departing suns, nor of the night with all her stars ; 
it will be a varying suffusion from the life within, 
from the glowing clouds of thought and feeling, 
which mantle with their changeful drapery all ex- 
ternal creation. 

' We receive but what we give, 

And in our life alone does nature live.* 

Let the poet bear into the recesses of woods and 
shadowy hills a heart full-fraught with the sympa- 
thies which will have been fostered by intercourse 
with his kind, a memory covered with the secret in- 
scriptions which joy and sorrow fail not indelibly to 
write — then will the voice of every stream respond 
to him in tones of gladness or melancholy, accordant 
with those of his own soul ; and he himself, by the 
might of feelings intensely human, may breathe the 
living spirit of the oracle into the resounding cavern 
or the whispering oak. We thus admit it essential 
to his high office, that the chambers of imagery in 
the heart of the poet must be filled with materials 
i. s 



274 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

moulded from the sorrows, the affections, the fiery 
trials, and immortal longings of the human soul. 
Where love, and faith, and anguish, meet and con- 
tend — where the tones of prayer are wrung from the 
suffering spirit — there lie his veins of treasure ; 
there are the sweet waters ready to flow from the 
stricken rock." 

The news which arrived from India in the sum- 
mer of this year (1834), of the death of her friend 
Mrs Fletcher (the late Miss Jewsbury), affected 
Mrs Hemans very deeply. The early removal of 
this gifted and high-minded woman was, indeed, ai* 
event to excite the most sorrowful and startling re- 
flections. On the 1st of August, 1832, she was 
married, in a little quiet church amongst the Welsh 
mountains, * to the Rev. W. K. Fletcher, one of the 
chaplains to the H.E.I. C. Fourteen months after- 
wards, she was laid in her last resting-place, at 
Poonah, in the " far East," having fallen a victim 
to cholera, whilst travelling with her husband back 
to Bombay, from Sholapore, their first station, 
which they had been obliged to quit, in consequence 
of its extreme unhealthiness. It is affecting to retrace 
passages in her letters, fraught with forebodings 
which are now invested with a sad solemnity — with 
" something of prophetic strain." In the very first 
letter written after her marriage, describing the 
journey through a desolate tract of country between 

* At Penegoes, in Montgomeryshire, then the happy home of 
Mrs Hemans's sister. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 275 

Aberystwyth and Rhaiadr, she thus expressed 
herself : — " We travelled for seventeen miles 
through the most solitary land 1 ever saw — high, 
green, hare hills, inhabited only by sheep ; no trees, 
no houses, no human beings — it gave us, on the land, 
a feeling similar to being on the sea- — and I believe 
our hearts were mutually full of that strange, deep 
sadness, that unutterable melancholy, which childish 
minds would say was incompatible with happiness, 
but which thinking natures know to be inseparable 
from enjoyment. It is not the skeleton, at the Egyp- 
tian feast, but the voice of the Macedonian herald, 
bidding the conqueror remember his mortality." 

In another letter, written shortly before her de- 
parture from England, she says, in alluding to her 
own compositions, — " In the best of everything I 
have done, you will find one leading idea — Death : 
all thoughts, all images, all contrasts of thoughts 
and images, are derived from living much in the 
valley of that shadow. 

" My poetry, except some half-dozen pieces, may be 
consigned to oblivion ; but in all, you would find the 
sober hue which, to my mind's eye, blends equally 
with the golden glow of sunset, and the bright green 
of spring, and is seen equally in the i temple of de- 
light,' as in the tomb of decay and separation." 

Still more striking are the words of one of the 
last letters ever received from her, dated only six 
weeks before the writer was called away ; in which 
she speaks of living in a land " where death is such 



276 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

a swift and cunning hunter, that before you know 
you are ill, you may be ready to become his prey — 
where death, the grave, and forgetfulness, may be 
the work of two days !" 

Mrs Hemans's feelings on this occasion, will be 
best shown by the following fragments : — 

" I was indeed deeply and permanently affected 
by the untimely fate of one so gifted, and so affec- 
tionately loving me, as our poor lost friend. It hung 
the more solemnly upon my spirits, as the subject of 
death and the mighty future had so many, many 
times been that of our most confidential communion. 
How much deeper power seemed to lie coiled up, as 
it were, in the recesses of her mind, than was ever 
manifested to the world in her writings ! Strange 
and sad does it seem that only the broken music of 
such a spirit should have been given to the earth — 
the full and finished harmony never drawn forth. 
Yet I would rather a thousand times that she should 
have perished thus, in the path of her chosen duties, 
than have seen her become the merely brilliant crea- 
ture of London literary life, at once the queen and 
slave of some heartless coterie, living upon those poor 
succes de societe, which I think utterly ruinous to all 
that is lofty, and holy, and delicate, in the nature of 
a highly endowed woman. I put on mourning for 
her with a deep feeling of sadness, — I never ex- 
pected to meet her again in this life, but there was 
a strong chain of interest between us, that spell of 
mind on mind, which, once formed, can never be 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 277 

broken. I felt, too, that my whole nature was un- 
derstood and appreciated by her, and this is a sort 
of happiness which I consider the most rare in all 
earthly affection. Those who feel and think deeply, 
whatever playfulness of manner may brighten the 
surface of their character, are fully unsealed to very 
few indeed." 

" Will you tell Mr Wordsworth this anecdote of 
poor Mrs Fletcher ? I am sure it will interest him. 
During the time that the famine in the Deccan was 
raging, she heard that a poor Hindoo had been found 
lying dead in one of the temples at the foot of an 
idol, and with a female child, still living, in his arms. 
She and her husband immediately repaired to the 
spot, took the poor little orphan away with them, and 
conveyed it to their own home. She tended it assi- 
duously, and one of her last cares was to have it 
placed at a female missionary school, to be brought 
up as a Christian." * 



" I was not well when the news of our poor friend's 
death arrived, and was much overcome by it : and 
almost immediately afterwards, I was obliged to 
exert myself in a way altogether at variance with 
my feelings. All these causes have thrown me back 
a good deal ; but I am now surmounting them, and 
was yesterday able to make one of a party in an ex- 

* In The Christian Keepsake for 1838, there is an excellent 
likeness of Mrs Fletcher, with a slight but pleasing Memoir, 
written with much feeling and appreciation. 



278 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

cursion to a little mountain tarn * about twelve miles 
from Dublin. The strangely deserted character of 
the country, long before this object is reached — in- 
deed, at only seven or eight miles' distance from the 
metropolis — is quite astonishing to English eyes ; a 
wide, mountain tract of country, in many parts with- 
out a sign of human life, or trace of culture or habi- 
tation as far as the sight can reach — magnificent 
views bursting upon you every now and then, but all 
deep solitude, and the whole traversed by a noble 
road, a military work I was told, the only object of 
which seemed to be a large barrack in the heart of 
the hills, now untenanted, but absolutely necessary 
for the safety of Dublin not many years since. Then 
we reached a little lake, lying clear, and still, and 
dark, but sparkling all over to the sun, as with 
innumerable fire-flies ; high green hills sweeping 
down without shore or path, except on one side, into 
its very bosom, and all around the same deep silence. 
I was only sorry that one dwelling, and that, of all 
things, a cottage ornee, stood on its bank ; for though 
it was like a scene of enchantment to enter and look 
upon the lonely pool and solemn mountains, through 
the coloured panes of a richly-carved and oak-pan- 
nelled apartment, still the charm of nature was in 
some degree broken by the association of wealth and 
refinement. ,, 

Mrs Hemans had projected another visit to West- 

* Lough Bray. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 279 

mor eland in the course of this summer, and a delight- 
ful plan had been formed of a meeting there with her 
sister and brother-in-law, and of happy days to be 
passed together amidst the lovely scenery of the 
Lakes. But an attack of fever, by which she was 
visited in the month of July, and which reduced her 
to an alarming state of languor and weakness, com- 
pelled her, sadly and reluctantly, to relinquish all 
idea of carrying this long-cherished scheme into 
execution. " I know you will regret my heavy dis- 
appointment," she wrote to one of her friends in 
Liverpool, " when I tell you that I have been obliged 
sorrowfully to give up the hope of visiting England 
at present. Whether from the great exertions I 
had made to clear away all my wearisome corres- 
pondence, and arrange my affairs, so as to give my- 
self a month's holiday with a free conscience, or from 
the intense heat of the weather, which has long 
greatly oppressed me, I know not ; but my fever, 
which had not been quite subdued, returned upon 
me the very day I last wrote to you, and in a very 
few hours rose to such a height, that my strength 
was completely prostrated. I am now pronounced, 
and indeed feel myself, quite unfit for the possible 
risk of the passage, and subsequent travelling by 
coach, and am going this very day, or rather in the 
cool of the evening, a few miles into the county of 
Wicklow, for immediate change of air. If my health 
improve in a day or two, I shall travel on very 
quietly to get more among the mountains, the fresh, 



280 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

wild, native air of which is to me always an elixir 
vitce ; but I am going under much depression of feel- 
ing, both from my keen sense of disappointment, and 
because I hate wandering about by myself."* 

This excursion, far from producing the good 
effects anticipated, led, on the contrary, to very dis- 
astrous ones ; for, by a most unfortunate fatality, the 
little country inn to which Mrs Hemans repaired 
for change of air, proved to be infected with scarlet 
fever, and this circumstance was concealed by the 
people of the house, till both herself and her maid 
had caught the contagion. She thus became again 
a prisoner from illness, under circumstances of far 
greater discomfort than before ; and so entirely were 
her strength and spirits subdued by these repeated 
attacks, that she afterwards described herself as 
having passed hour after hour, in the beginning of 
her convalescence, sitting in the little garden of the 
inn, with her senses absorbed in the tremulous mo- 
tions of a weeping willow, and tears rolling down 
her cheeks from absolute weakness and weariness. 
Like " Mariana in the moated grange," 
" She said, * I am aweary, aweary, 
I would that I were dead !' "f 

As soon as her removal could be undertaken with 
safety, she returned to Dublin, and by degrees attain- 
ed once more to a state of partial recovery. " My 

* Her son Charles was gone with a friend into Westmore- 
land. 

f See the poem of Mariana, by Mr Alfred Tennyson. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 281 

fever has left me," she wrote to her sister, " with a 
very great susceptibility to coughs, sore throats, and 
all that " grisly train," and this, I am afraid, is likely 
to continue my scourge for a long time. In order 
to surmount it, I am desired to pass as much time as 
possible in the open air, which I accordingly do, but 
with a great sense of languor clinging to me. I went 
for two or three days to the Archbishop's country- 
seat, just before Charles's return, and my spirits 
were cheered by the quiet and the intellectual so- 
ciety of the place. I am now, though often with a 
deep-sighing weariness (of which, I fear, your own 
anxieties must have given you experience also), gra- 
dually returning to my employments." — The same 
letter contained copies of her two sonnets to Silvio 
Pellico, to which she thus alluded, — " I wrote them 
only a few days ago (almost the first awakening of 
my spirit, indeed, after a long silence and darkness), 
upon reading that delightful book of Pellico's,* 
which I borrowed in consequence of what you had 
told me of it. I know not when I have read any 
thing which has so deeply impressed me : the gradual 
brightening of heart and soul into " the perfect day" 
of Christian excellence through all those fiery trials, 
presents, I think, one of the most touching, as well as 
instructing pictures ever contemplated. How beau- 
tiful is the scene between him and Oroboni, in which 
they mutually engage to shrink not from the avowal 
of their faith, should they ever return into the 

* Le, mie Prigioni. 



282 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

world ! But I could say so much on this subject, 
which has quite taken hold of my thoughts, that it 
would lead me to fill up my whole letter/' 

In another letter she spoke further of this hook, 
as " a work with which I have been both impressed 
and delighted, and one which I strongly recommend 
you to procure. It is the Prigioni of Silvio Pel- 
lico, a distinguished young Italian poet, who incur- 
red the suspicions of the Austrian government, and 
was condemned to the penalty of the carcere duro 
during ten years, of which this most interesting work 
contains the narrative. It is deeply affecting from 
the heart-springing eloquence with which he details 
his varied sufferings. What forms, however, the 
great charm of the work, is the gradual and almost 
unconsciously-revealed exaltation of the sufferer's 
character, spiritualized, through suffering, into the 
purest Christian excellence. It is beautiful to see 
the lessons of trust in God and love to mankind, 
brought out more and more into shining light from 
the depth of the dungeon-gloom ; and all this crowned 
at last by the release of the noble, all-forgiving 
captive, and his restoration to his aged father and 
mother, whose venerable faces seem perpetually to 
have haunted the solitude of his cell. The book is 
written in the most classic Italian, and will, I am 
sure, be one to afford you lasting delight." 

The same letter, speaking of several books which 
she had read with strong and varied interest, pro- 
ceeds thus : — " Amongst the chief of these has been 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 283 

the Correspondence of Bishop Jebb with Mr Knox, 
which presents, I think, the most beautiful picture 
ever developed of a noble Christian friendship, 
brightening on and on through an uninterrupted 
period of thirty years. Knox's part of the corres- 
pondence is extremely rich in original thought and 
the highest views of enlightened Christian philoso- 
phy. There is much elegance, 'pure religion/ and 
refined intellectual taste, in the Bishop's letters also, 
but his mind is decidedly inferior both in fervour and 
power." 

Another affecting allusion to Silvio Pellico's nar- 
rative occurs in a subsequent letter — " I have read 
it more than once, so powerful has been its effect 
upon my feelings. When the weary struggle with 
wrong and injustice leads to such results, I then feel 
that the fearful mystery of life is solved for me." 



" A friend kindly brought me yesterday the Satur- 
day Magazine containing Coleridge's letter to his 
godchild. It is, indeed, most beautiful, and, coming 
from that sovereign intellect, ought to be received as 
an invaluable record of faith and humility. It is 
scarcely possible to read it without tears." * 

* As it seems impossible for such a composition to be read 
too often, the letter is subjoined, for the benefit of those who 
may not have the means of referring to it. 

Coleridge's Letter to his godchild Adam Steinmetz Kinnaird, 
written only a few days before his death : — 
" My dear Godchild, — I offer up the same fervent prayer 



284 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

The following extract is from a letter of acknow- 
ledgment, on receiving a present of Retzsch's Out- 
lines to Schiller's Song of the Bell : — " This last 
noble production of Retzsch's was quite new to 
me, and you may imagine with how many bright 
associations of friendship and poesy every leaf of it 
is teeming for me. Again and again have I re- 
curred to its beauty-embodied thoughts, and ever 

for you now, as I did kneeling before the altar when you were 
baptised into Christ, and solemnly received as a living member 
of His spiritual body, the church. Years must pass before you 
will be able to read with an understanding heart what I now 
write. But I trust that the all-gracious God, the Father of our 
Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of Mercies, who, by his only-be- 
gotten Son (all mercies in one sovereign mercy !) has redeemed 
you from evil ground, and willed you to be born out of dark- 
ness, but into light ; out of death, but into life ; out of sin, but 
into righteousness ; even into * the Lord, our righteousness.' — 
I trust that He will graciously hear the prayers of your dear 
parents, and be with you as the spirit of health and growth, in 
body and in mind. My dear godchild! you received from 
Christ's minister, at the baptismal font, as your Christian name, 
the name of a most dear friend of your father's, and who was 
to me even as a son — the late Adam Steinmetz, whose fervent 
aspirations, and paramount aim, even from early youth, were 
to be a Christian in thought, word, and deed — in will, mind, 
and affections. I, too, your godfather, have known what the 
enjoyments of this life are, and what the more refined pleasures 
which learning and intellectual power can give ; I now, on the 
eve of my departure, declare to you (and earnestly pray that 
you may hereafter live and act on the conviction), that health 
is a great blessing, competence obtained by honourable indus- 
try a great blessing, and a great blessing it is, to have kind, 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 285 

with the freshness of a new delight. The volume, 
too, is so rich in materials for sweet and bitter 
fancies, that to an imaginative nature it would be 
invaluable, were it for this alone. But how imbued 
' it is throughout with grace — the delicate, spiritual 
grace breathed from the domestic affections, in the 
full play of their tenderness ! I look upon it truly 
as a religious work ; for it contains scarcely a de- 
sign in which the eternal alliance between the human 

faithful, and loving friends and relatives ; but that the greatest 
of all blessings, as it is the most ennobling of all privileges, is 
to be indeed a Christian. But I have been, likewise, through 
a large portion of my later life, a sufferer, sorely affected with 
bodily pains, languor, and manifold infirmities ; and for the last 
three or four years have, with few and brief intervals, been 
confined to a sick-room, and at this moment, in great weakness 
and heaviness, write from a sick-bed, hopeless of recovery, yet 
without prospect of a speedy removal. And I, thus on the 
brink of the grave, solemnly bear witness to you, that the 
Almighty Redeemer, most gracious in his promises to 
them that truly seek Him, is faithful to perform what He has 
promised; and has reserved, under all pains and infirmities, the 
peace that passeth all understanding, with the supporting assur- 
ances of a reconciled God, who will not withdraw His Spirit 
from the conflict, and in His own good time will deliver me 
from the evil one. Oh ! my dear godchild ! eminently blessed 
are they who begin early to seek, fear, and love their God, 
trusting wholly in the righteousness and mediation of their 
Lord, Redeemer, Saviour, and everlasting High Priest, Jesus 
Christ. Oh I preserve this as a legacy and bequest from your 
unseen godfather and friend, 

" S. T. Coleridge." 
"Grove, Highgate,'' 



286 MEMOIR OF MRS KEMANS. 

soul and its Creator is not shadowed forth by devo- 
tional expression. How admirably does this mani- 
fest itself in the group of the christening- — the first 
scene of the betrothed lovers, with their uplifted eyes 
of speechless happiness — and, above all, in that ex- 
quisite group representing the father counting over 
his beloved heads, after the conflagration ! I was 
much impressed, too, by that most poetic vision at 
the close, where the mighty bell, no more to pro- 
claim the tidings of human weal or wo, is lying amidst 
ruins, and half mantled over by a veil of weeds and 
wild flowers. What a profusion of external beauty ! 
— but, above all, what a deep < inwardness of mean- 
ing' there is in all these speaking things !" 

Very soon after the date of the above letter, that 
fatal cold was caught, which, following up, as it did, 
so many trying attacks, completed but too effectually 
the wreck of a prematurely shattered constitution. 
Having been recommended, as already mentioned, to 
be as much as possible in the open air, Mrs Hemans 
passed a good deal of time in the Gardens of the 
Dublin Society, which have been before alluded to, 
as amongst her most favourite resorts. One day, 
having repaired there, as usual, with a book, she 
unfortunately became so absorbed in reading, as to 
forget how the hours were wearing away, till recalled 
to herself by the penetrating chill of an autumnal 
fog, which had suddenly closed around her. She 
hastened home ; but not, alas ! without having already 
imbibed the pestilential influence of the blighting 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 287 

atmosphere. A shuddering thrill pervaded her whole 
frame, and she felt, as she often afterwards declared, 
a presentiment that from that moment her hours 
were numbered. The same evening she was attacked 
by a fit of ague ; and this insidious and harassing 
complaint continued its visitations for several weeks, 
reducing her poor wasted form to the most lament- 
able state of debility, and at length retiring only to 
make way for a train of symptoms still more fatal 
and distressing. Yet, while the work of decay was 
going on thus surely and progressively upon the 
earthly tabernacle, the bright flame within continued 
to burn with a pure and holy light, and, at times, 
even to flash forth with more than wonted bright- 
ness. The lyric of " Despondency and Aspiration," 
which may be considered as her noblest and highest 
effort, and in which, from a feeling that it might be 
her last work, she felt anxious to concentrate all her 
powers, was written during the few intervals accorded 
her from acute suffering or powerless languor. And 
in the same circumstances she wrote, or rather dic- 
tated, the series of sonnets called Thoughts during 
Sickness, which present so interesting a picture of the 
calm, submissive tone of her mind, whether engaged 
in tender remembrances of the past, or in solemn 
and reverential speculations on the future. The 
one entitled " Sickness like Night," discloses a view 
no less affecting than consolatory, of the sweet and 
blessed peace which hovered round the couch where 
" Mutely and helplessly she lay reposing." 



288 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

" Thou art like night, O sickness ! deeply stilling 
Within my heart the world's disturbing sound, 
And the dim quiet of my chamber filling 

With low, sweet voices, by life's tumult drown'd. 

Thou art like awful night ! — thou gatherest round 
The things that are unseen, though close they lie, 

And with a truth, clear, startling, and profound, 
Giv'st their dread presence to our mortal eye. 

Thou art like starry, spiritual night! 

High and immortal thoughts attend thy way, 
And revelations, which the common light 

Brings not, though wakening with its rosy ray 
All outward life. Be welcome, then, thy rod, 
Before whose touch my soul unfolds itself to God." 

The last sonnet of the series, entitled " Recovery, " 
was written under temporary appearances of con- 
valescence, which proved as fugitive as they were 
fallacious. 

Early in the month of December, Mrs Hemans 
having been recommended to try change of air, and 
the quiet of the country, her brother and sister-in- 
law, who had come up from Kilkenny to see her, and 
have a consultation of physicians, were about to 
remove her into the County of Wicklow; when the 
thoughtful kindness of the Archbishop and Mrs 
Whateley placed at her disposal their own country- 
seat of Redesdale, a delightful retirement about seven 
miles from Dublin, where every comfort was pro- 
vided for her that the most delicate consideration 
could suggest, and where, for a short season, she 



MEMOIR OP MRS HEMANS. 289 

appeared to derive some slight benefit from the 
change. She occasionally exerted herself to write 
short letters in pencil, to allay the anxieties of her 
friends ; from one of which affecting epistles the 
following passage is extracted : — 

" Redesdale, Sunday Evening, Dec. 13, 1834. 

" My fever, though still returning at its hours, is 
decidedly abated, with several of its most exhausting 
accompaniments ; and those intense, throbbing head- 
aches have left me, and allowed me gradually to 
resume the inestimable resource of reading, though 
frequent drowsiness obliges me to use this very 
moderately. But better far than these indications 
of recovery, is the sweet religious peace which I 
feel gradually overshadowing me with its dove- 
pinions, excluding all that would exclude thoughts 
of God. I would I could convey to you the deep 
feelings of repose and thankfulness with which I 
lay on Friday evening, gazing from my sofa upon a 
sunset sky of the richest suffusions— silvery green 
and amber kindling into the most glorious tints of 
the burning rose. I felt its holy beauty sinking 
through my inmost being, with an influence drawing 
me nearer and nearer to God. The stillness here 
is exquisite ; broken only by the occasional notes of 
the robin, one of which faithful birds yesterday paid 
us a visit." 

Her love of flowers not only continued undimi- 
nished, but seemed daily to strengthen into a deeper 



290 MEMOXU OF MRS HEMANS. 

sentiment, realizing the feelings which had been 
already depicted in her poem, entitled "Flowers and 
Music in a room of Sickness." 

" God hath purified my spirit's eye, 

And in the folds of this consummate rose 
I read bright prophecies. I see not there, 
Dimly and mournfully, the word ' farewell* 
On the rich petals traced : No — in soft veins 
And characters of beauty, I can read — 
* Look up. Look heavenward ! ' " 

" I really think that pure passion for flowers," she 
wrote, in one of her notes at this time to Mrs Law- 
rence, " is the only one which long sickness leaves 
untouched with its chilling influence. Often during 
this weary illness of mine, have I looked upon new 
books with perfect apathy, when, if a friend has sent 
me a few flowers, my heart has < leaped up' to their 
dreamy hues and odours, with a sudden sense of re- 
novated childhood, which seems to me one of the 
mysteries of our being." 

Her son Charles was the inseparable companion 
of these solemn, yet blessed hours ; and he will ever 
look back with a thankful heart on the privilege 
granted to him of being thus constantly permitted to 
profit by her example, to soothe her loneliness by his 
pious devotion, to read to her, to write for her, to be 
in all things her gently ministering spirit. During 
the Christmas holidays, these grateful offices were 
affectionately shared by his brother Henry, then a 
schoolboy at Shrewsbury. How often must the ear- 
nest eyes of the languid sufferer have rested on these, 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 29 1 

her bright and blooming ones, with all a mother's 
tenderness and pride — how must her heart have over- 
flowed with unutterable yearnings at the thoughts of 
leaving them ! — how fervently must she have com- 
mitted them in silent, inward supplication, to the 
love and care of their Heavenly Father ! 

It would be doing injustice to the memory of a 
humble, but not the less valuable friend, to omit 
mentioning the great comfort Mrs Hemans derived 
from the indefatigable services of her faithful attend- 
ant, Anna Creer ; a young person whose excellent 
principles, undeviating propriety, and real superiority 
of mind and manner, would have done honour to any 
station, while they made her a perfect treasure in the 
one of which she fulfilled the duties so admirably. 
She was born of respectable parents in the Isle of 
Man, and had been carefully educated in a manner 
befitting her line of life. Mrs Hemans had taken 
great pains to improve her ; and from the force of 
grateful attachment, and a certain inherent refine- 
ment which seemed a part of her nature, she almost 
insensibly acquired a sort of assimilation in her ideas 
and expressions to those of her kind mistress. The 
assiduitv of her attendance, cheerful and unwearied 
by night and by day, cannot be remembered without 
thankful appreciation ; and this is now blended with 
a touching interest, excited by many circumstances 
of her subsequent illness and death.* 

* Two years after the death of her mistress, she married 
a most respectable tradesman in Dublin, who had been long 



292 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

• During her stay at Redesdale, Mrs Hemans was 
continually visited by the benevolent Mrs Whate- 
ley, whose gentle sympathy was a balm to her heart. 
The true brotherly kindness of her excellent friend, 
Colonel D'^guilar — his indefatigable and thoughtful 
attentions, prompted as well by his own generous 
regard as by the affectionate anxiety of his sister, 
Mrs Lawrence, were a source of comfort, the con- 
sciousness of which must be its own reward, as words 
are inadequate to do justice to it. And the same 
must be said of the disinterested zeal and solicitude 

attached to her — the proprietor of the house in which Mrs 
Hemans had latterly resided. In this house she herself died, 
in May, 1838 (having fallen into a decline, in consequence of 
a premature confinement), and was buried in the same vault 
which holds the remains of her dear mistress. The subjoined 
extract is given, as affording some idea of her warm heart and 
singularly delicate mind. It is part of a letter written by her, a 
few months after Mrs Hemans's death : — " It is a continual 
cause of thankfulness to me that I was so wonderfully supported, 
even to the last sad hour ; — sad it must ever be to me ; it is a thing 
not to wear off. Oh no ! with me it seems to deepen daily — 
remembrances grow dearer. My thought of her is like some 
hidden, treasured thing, which no power could win from me. 
I feel it would be downright selfishness to wish her back : it 
may well be said this was not her rest. She ever seemed to me 
as a wanderer from her Heavenly Father's mansion, who knew 
too much of that home to seek a resting-place here ! She often 
said to me, * I feel like a tired child — wearied, and longing 
to mingle with the pure in heart.' At other times she would 
eay, — ' I feel as if I were sitting with Mary at the feet of my 
Redeemer, hearing the music of His voice, and learning of Him 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 293 

of Mrs Hemans's medical friends, Dr Graves and Dr 
Croker. 

Not long after her removal into the country, her 
sympathies were sorrowfully excited hy an event 
which plunged into the deepest distress the family 
with which she was most intimate, and deprived 
herself, individually, of a valuable and paternal 
friend ; — the death, after a very short illness, of the 
late J. C. Graves, Esq. Most touchingly did she 
lament her own inability to minister at such a mo- 
ment to the griefs of those for whom she felt so sin- 
to be meek and lowly.' And then she would say, ' Oh, Anna, 
do not you love your kind Saviour ? The plan of Redemption 
was indeed a glorious one ; humility was indeed the crowning 
work. I am like a quiet babe at His feet, and yet my spirit is 
full of His strength. When any body speaks of His love to me, 
I feel as if they were too slow ; my spirit can mount alone with 
Him into those blissful realms, with far more rapidity.' 

" My heart gets too full for utterance when I think of her 
affectionate manner to me. She often told me that she believed 
I had been sent to her in answer to her earnest prayer, and said 
that, whatever might be her fate, I might always feel that my 
being with her had not been in vain. These were her words ; 
and the Searcher of hearts only knows how thankful, yet 
humbled, I feel for such an inestimable blessing. It is one for 
which I feel I shall have to render an account. May it prove 
a blessed one ! I wish I could tell you more of what she said, 
but my language is so poor, so weak, that when I would try, it 
is as if I were robbing her words of their brightness ; but then 
I know that none can speak as she did. These are not words 
of course ; no, I can truly say my ties to earth are weakened, 
because she is no longer here." 



294 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

cerely. " Again and again have I thought of you," 
were the words of her letter on this occasion, to one 
of his afflicted daughters, "and wished that my health 
allowed me to be near you, that I might make some 
little efforts to comfort and sustain. Few can more 
deeply enter into all you have suffered than myself, 
in whose mind the death-bed scene of my beloved 
and excellent mother is still as mournfully distinct as 
the week when that bereavement occurred, which 
threw me to struggle upon a harsh and bitter world. 
But, dearest C, there comes a time when we feel that 
God has drawn us nearer to Himself by the chasten- 
ing influence of such trials, and when we thankfully 
acknowledge that a higher state of spiritual purifi- 
cation — the great object, I truly believe, of all our 
earthly discipline — has been the blessed result of our 
calamities. I am sure that in your pure and pious 
mind this result will ere long take place, and that a 
deep and reconciling calm will follow the awakening 
sense of God's parental dealings with the spirit." 

The following words are from a note dated Janu- 
ary 27th : — I cannot possibly describe to you the 
subduing effect that long illness has produced upon 
my mind. I seem to have been passing * through 
the valley of the shadow of death, ' and all the vivid 
interests of life look dim and pale around me. I 
am still at the Archbishop's palace,* where I re- 

* Redesdata is not, properly speaking, the Archbishop's 
palace, but his country-s»at ; but there weie old and dear 
associations attached to the former name, which made it very 



MEMOIR OF MUS HEMANS. 295 

ceive kindness truly heart-warm. Never could any- 
thing be more cordial than the strong interest he 
and his amiable "wife have taken in my recovery. 
My dear Henry has enjoyed his holidays here greatly, 
as I should have done too (he has been so mild and 
affectionate), but for constant pain and sickness." 

The future destination of this " dear Henry," now 
of an age to enter upon the active duties of life, and 
work out his own path to independence, had been 
for some time a subject which pressed heavily upon 
the mind of his anxious mother. It may, therefore, 
well be imagined with what unspeakable joy and 
gratitude she hailed the arrival of a boon so utterly 
unexpected as a letter from Sir Robert Peel, (ex- 
pressed in terms no less honourable to the writer, 
than gratifying to the receiver), appointing her son 
to a clerkship in the Admiralty, and accompanied 
by a most munificent donation, which, emanating 
from such a quarter, could create no feelings but 
those of heartfelt thankfulness, unmingled with any 
alloy of false delicacy or mistaken pride. 

Mrs Hemans was at first entirely at a loss to trace 
the channel through whose means this stream of 
bounty had found its way to her retirement ; but it 
was with less of surprise than of grateful pleasure, 
that she at length discovered it to have been through 
the affectionate exertions of her friend Mrs Law- 
rence, that an interest so powerful had been awakened 

natural that Mrs Hrmans should use it in connexion with 
" kindness heart- warm.' 9 



296 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

in her favour. The joyful excitement of a happi- 
ness so unlooked for — the relief of having such a 
weight of anxiety thus lifted from her heart — roused 
her for a time from the almost lethargic languor 
into which her feeble frame was gradually sinking, 
and her energies broke forth once more, " as the 
tender grass springeth out of the earth by clear 
shining after rain." She exerted herself to write 
many letters to impart the glad tidings to her friends, 
speaking invariably of this noble act of kindness as 
having filled her mind with joy and thankfulness ; 
as being " a sunshine without a cloud." Again must 
her own words be quoted from one of the last of her 
letters to Mrs Lawrence : — 

" Well, my dear friend, I hope my life, if it be 
spared, may now flow back into its native course of 
quiet thoughtfulness. You know in how rugged a 
channel the poor little stream has been forced, and 
through what rocks it has wrought its way ; and it 
is now longing for repose in some still valley. It 
has ever been one of my regrets that the constant 
necessity of providing sums of money to meet the 
exigencies of the boys' education, has obliged me to 
waste my mind in what I consider mere desultory 
effusions : 

* Pouring myself away, 

As a wild bird, amidst the foliage, turns 

That which within him thrills, and beats and burns, 

Into a fleeting lay.' 

" My wish ever was to concentrate all my mental 






MEMOIR OF MRS HE MANS. 297 

energy in the production of some more noble and 
complete work ; something of pure and holy excel- 
lence (if there be not too much presumption in the 
thought), which might permanently take its place 
as the work of a British poetess. I have always, 
hitherto, written as if in the breathing times of 
storms and billows. Perhaps it may not even yet 
be too late to accomplish what I wish, though I 
sometimes feel my health so deeply prostrated, that 
I cannot imagine how I am ever to be raised up 
again. But a greater freedom from those cares, of 
which I have been obliged to bear up under the 
whole responsibility, may do much to restore me ; 
and though my spirits are greatly subdued by long 
sickness, I feel the powers of my mind in full matu- 
rity The very idea of possessing such 

friends as yourself and your dear, noble brother, is 

a fountain of strength and hope I am 

very, very weary of writing so long ; yet still feel as 
if I had a thousand things to say to you. 

" With regard to my health, I can only tell you 
that what I now feel is a state of sinking languor, 
from which it seems impossible I should ever be 
raised. I am greatly exhausted with this long let- 
ter, so farewell." 

A reaction of still more distressing debility, and 
an increase of other alarming symptoms, followed 
but too rapidly this temporary revival. " I cannot 
tell you how much I suffer," was the reluctant con- 
fession of a pencilled note to her sister, " nor what 



298 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

a state of utter childlike weakness my poor wasted 
limbs are reduced to. But my mind is, as I desired 
Charlie to tell you, in a state of the deepest resig- 
nation ; to which is now added a warm thankfulness 

to God for this His latest mercv." 

it 

The increased danger of her situation making it 
advisable that she should return into Dawson Street 
to be nearer her physicians, she quitted Redesdale 
in the beginning of March, with a heart full of gra ■ 
titude for the kindly shelter it had afforded her. 
She had now almost entirely lost the use of her 
limbs, and had to be lifted in and out of the carriage 
by her brother, who had come up from Kilkenny on 
purpose to superintend the arrangements for her re- 
moval, and who, from this time to the hour of her 
death, never left her, but when summoned into the 
country by his official duties ; whilst his affectionate 
wife, who arrived in Dublin the following week, 
continued unremitting in her devoted attendance to 
the last. The melancholy group was soon after- 
wards joined by her sister, who remained with her 
until called away by still more imperative claims ; 
and for a few days by her son Willoughby, then 
employed (as has already been mentioned) upon the 
Ordnance Survey in the north of Ireland. 

From this time, the daily declining invalid could 
only leave her bed to be laid upon a coach in the 
same room ; and her sufferings, caused by the organic 
disease which had succeeded the ague, were occa- 
sionally most severe. But all was borne uncom- 
plainingly. Never was her mind overshadowed 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 299 

with gloom ; never would she allow those around 
her to speak of her condition as one deserving 
commiseration. The dark and silent chamber 
seemed illumined by light from above, and cheered 
with songs of angels; and she would say, that, in 
her intervals from pain, " no poetry could express, 
nor imagination conceive, the visions of blessedness 
that flitted across her fancy, and made her waking 
hours more delightful than those even that were 
given to temporary repose." Her sleep was calm and 
happy ; and none but pleasing dreams ever visited 
her couch. This she acknowledged as a great and 
unexpected blessing ; for, in all her former illnesses, 
she had been used to suffer either from painfully 
intense wakefulness, or disturbed and fitful slumbers, 
which exhausted, rather than refreshed, the worn 
and feverish frame. Changeful as were the moods 
of her mind, they were invariably alike in this — that 
serenity and submission as to her own state, and the 
kindest consideration for others, shed their sweet 
influence over all. At times, her spirit would ap- 
pear to be already half-etherealized ; her mind 
would seem to be fraught with deep, and holy, and 
incommunicable thoughts, and she would entreat to 
be left perfectly alone, in stillness and darkness, " to 
commune with her own heart," and reflect on the 
mercies of her Saviour. She continually spoke of 
the unutterable comfort she derived from dwelling 
on the contemplation of the Atonement. To one 
friend, for whom she dreaded the influence of adverse 
opinions, she sent a solemn exhortation, earnestly 



300 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

declaring that this alone was her " rod and staff," 
when all earthly supports were failing. To another^ 
she desired the assurance might be given, that " the 
tenderness and affectionateness of the Redeemer's 
character, which they had often contemplated to- 
gether, was now a source, not merely of reliance, 
but of positive happiness to her — the sweetness of 
her couch" At less solemn moments she would 
converse with much of her own kindly cheerfulness, 
sending affectionate messages to her various friends, 
and recalling old remembrances with vivid and en- 
dearing minuteness. Her thoughts reverted fre- 
quently to the days of childhood — to the old house 
by the sea-shore — the mountain rambles — the haunts 
and the books which had formed the delight of her 
girlish years. One evening, whilst her sister was 
sitting by her bed-side, a yellow gleam from the 
setting sun, which streamed through the half- closed 
shutters, produced a peculiar effect upon the wall, 
exactly similar to what used to be observed at sun- 
set in their old school-room at Gwrych. They both 
remarked the circumstance, and what a gush of re- 
collections was thus called forth ! The association 
was like that so often produced by a peculiar scent, 
or a remembered strain of music* Yet in all, save 

* ■ " It may be a sound — 

A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring — 

A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound, 

Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound.*' 

Childe Harold, Canto iv. Stanza xxiii. 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 301 

that streak of light, how different were the two 
scenes ! — The one, a chamber of sickness in a busy 
city — its windows (for a back-room had been chosen, 
for the sake of quietness,) looking down into a dull 
court ; the other, a cheerful apartment in an old 
country house, every thing about it bespeaking the 
presence of happy childhood, and the wide, pleasant 
window opening out upon fresh green fields ; beyond 
them the silver sea ; and far in the west, the sun 
sinking behind the dark, bold promontory of the 
Orme's Head. And in the inmates of those two 
rooms* the contrast was no less striking. Of the two 
joyous children, one, " the favourite and the flower," 
now a worn and faded form, lay on her dying bed ; 
the other, on the eve of partings worse than death, 
destined to feel the sad force of the affecting old 
epitaph : — . 

" Why doe I live, in life a thralle, 
Of joye and alle berefte ? 
Their wings were growne, to heaven they're flowne — 
'Cause I had none, I'm lefte. "* 

The powers of memory for which Mrs Hemans 
had always been so remarkable, shone forth with in- 
creased brightness whilst her outward frame was so 
visibly decaying. She would lie for hours without 
speaking or moving, repeating to herself whole chap- 
ters of the Bible, and page after page of Milton and 
Wordsworth. The volume of Yarrow Revisited, 

* In Crediton Church, near Exeter. 



302 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

which was published at this time, and sent to her by 
her revered friend, with an autograph inscription, 
afforded her great delight.* Amongst the many 
messages of cordial remembrance which she sent to 
her personal friends, as well as to some of those with 
whose minds alone she had held communion, was one 
to Miss Mitford, desiring she might be told how 
often some of her sweet woodland scenes rose up 
before her, as in a camera obscura, filling the dark 
room with pleasant rural sights ; with the scent of 
the new-mown hay or the fresh fern, and the soothing 
sound of waters. Her " Remembrances of Nature," 
described with so deep a feeling in one of her son- 
nets, continued equally intense and affectionate to the 
last. A passage from a work which had long been 
high in her favour, was now brought home to her 
thoughts with a truth equal to its eloquence. " O 
unseen Spirit of Creation ! that watchest over all 
things — the desert and the rock, no less than the 
fresh water, bounding on like a hunter on his path, 

* It would have been very dear to her, could she have fore- 
seen the delicate and appropriate commemoration awarded 
to her by Mr Wordsworth, in the elegiac stanzas which record 
the high names of some of his most distinguished contem- 
poraries, summoned, in quick succession, " to the land whence 
none return :" — 

" Mourn rather for that holy spirit, 
Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep, 
For her, who, ere her summer faded, 
Has sunk into a breathless sleep." 
See Wordsworth's Poems (new edition). Vol. V. p. 336. 



MEMOIR OF MRS EEMANS. 303 

when his heart is in his step — or the valley girded 
hy the glad woods, and living with the yellow corn — 
to me, thus sad and baffled, thou hast ministered as 
to the happiest of thy children! — thou hast whis- 
pered tidings of unutterable comfort to a heart which 
the world sated while it deceived. Thou gavest me 
a music, sweeter than that of palaces, in the moun- 
tain wind — thou badest the flowers and the common 
grass smile up to me as children to the face of their 
father."* 

One of the few visitors admitted to her room, after 
she became entirely confined to it, was that most 
gifted and gracious child (for such he then was, both 
in years and appearance), Giulio Regondi, in whose 
wonderful musical genius she had previously taken 
great delight, whilst his guileless and sensitive nature 
inspired her with a warm feeling of interest. The 
lines she had addressed to him in the preceding year, 
flowed from that wellspring of maternal kindliness 
which was ever gushing within her bosom, and which 
made every child — still more every loving and mother- 
less child — an object towards which her heart yearned 
with tender sympathy. The little fellow showed the 
greatest anxiety during her illness, and was constant 
in his spontaneous enquiries. Sometimes he would 
call to ask for her on his way to play at the Castle 
concerts, or at some other evening party ; and as he 
stood in the doorway, with his innocent face, his 
delicate form, his long fair hair streaming down his 

• " The New Phaedo," in The Student, Vol. II. p. 355. 



304 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

shoulders, and his whole air and bearing so different 
from the everyday beings around him, one might 
almost have taken him for a messenger from " the 
better land." 

It is impossible to describe the considerate and 
unceasing attentions which were continually bring- 
ing assurance to the patient sufferer, not merely of 
the watchful kindness of friends, but of the generous 
interest of strangers.* All this she would acknow- 
ledge with the most grateful emotion, and even when 
unable to partake of the luxuries which poured in so 
lavishly from every imaginable quarter, they were 
still welcomed and appreciated as tokens of thoughtful 
recollection. But " flowers, fresh flowers !" — these 
were ever hailed as things of " deep meaning " and 
happy omen ; and never was her couch unblessed by 
their gentle presence. For this gratification she 
was more than once indebted to the kindness of a 
fellow sufferer, at that time under the care of her 

* This was particularly shown in the instance of one lady 
who was most assiduous in h» r personal enquirie s, and was con^ 
tinually bringing some new delicacy to tempt the capricious 
appetite of the invalid. There was a sort of interesting my- 
stery attached to th^se faity favours, as it never could bi? dis- 
covered from whom they proceeded The lady used to alight 
from an elegant equipage at the corner of the street, come up 
unattended to the door, and ask to see Anna Creer, whose 
entreaties to be told her name were pi offered in vain, " That,'* 
she used to say, " was of no consequence ; she only hoped 
that her attentions might be received as kindly as they were 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 305 

own friendly physician, Dr Croker ; this was the 
Rev. Hugh White (the author of Meditations and 
Addresses on Prayer, and of several other religious 
works), who was then considered to be in a state 
little less precarious than her own, though it pleased 
God, after long chastening, to " heal his sickness," 
and enable him to resume the duties of a " good and 
faithful servant." The impressions under which 
these tokens were sent and received, as from one 
dying Christian to another, invested them with a 
peculiar interest. Mrs Hemans had desired that a 
copy of her sonnet to " Flowers in a Sick Room'' 
should be sent to Mr White, and was sensibly 
touched by the note in which he wrote to thank her 
for it, as " so sweetly expressing the pleasurable and 
pious feelings their 6 pure and lovely forms ' are cal- 
culated to awaken in the bosom of one who delights 
to be reminded, by every object in creation, of that 
most precious and consolatory truth, that < God is 
love.' " Another passage from the same note, was 
equally in unison with her own feelings " I have 
been sorry, in one sense, to hear that you have latterly 
been so great a sufferer, and I can indeed sympa- 
thize with you in many of the trying feelings attend- 
ant on a broken and declining state of health. But 
as I believe I am writing to one who has tasted that 
the Lord is gracious, and has been given to know 
something of that love which passeth knowledge, I 
almost feel as if it were wrong to say I am sorry, 
that a gracious, and compassionate, and faithful 
i. u 



306 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

Saviour is fulfilling to you His own precious promise 
— c As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.'" 

The conviction of the inestimable value of such 
discipline, was, indeed, ever present to her mind, 
mingled with the deepest humility, the most entire 
resignation — an equal readiness to live or die — a 
saying with the whole heart — " Behold the hand- 
maid of the Lord — Be it unto me according to Thy 
word." 

" I feel," she would say, " as if hovering between 
heaven and earth ;" and she seemed, in truth, so 
raised towards the sky, that all worldly things were 
obscured and diminished to her view, whilst the in- 
effable glories of eternity dawned upon it more and 
more brightly. Even her affections, warm and eagor, 
and sensitive as they had been, were subdued into 
the same holy calm ; and meetings and partings, 
which in other days would have thrilled her with 
joy, or wrung her very heart with grief, were now 
sustained with the sweet, yet solemn composure, of 
one whose hopes have " surely there been fixed," 
where meetings are for evei% and partings unknown. 
Of all she had ever done in the exercise of the ta- 
lents with which it had pleased God to intrust her, 
she spoke in the meekest and lowliest spirit ; often 
declaring how much more ardently than ever, had 
life been prolonged, her powers would have been 
consecrated to His service : and if a gentle regret 
would sometimes intrude, as she thought of the many 
literary designs on which her mind and heart had 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMi\NS. 307 

latterly been bent, but which were now dissipated 
for ever, she would console herself with the line dic- 
tated by Milton under analogous circumstances — 

" Those also serve who only stand and wait."* 

There was at times an affecting inconsistency in 
the words she would let fall to those around her — 
sometimes as if anticipating a renewal of their 
earthly intercourse ; at others, revealing, by some 
allusion or injunction fraught with farewell tender- 
ness, how completely all idea of such a possibility 
had passed away from her mind. One day, when 
her sister was beside her, she repeated, with calm 
emphasis, the old homely verse — 

" Fear no more the heat o* the sun, 
Nor the furious winter's rages, 
Thou thy worldly task hast done, 

Home art gone and taen thy wages." 

adding — " Those words may soon be said for me." 
And the circumstance of her sinking to rest on the 
Saturday night, brought them most touchingly back 
to remembrance. 

On Sunday evening, the loth of March, it had 
been arranged that she was to receive the sacrament 
from the hands of the Rev. Dr Dickinson (one of 
the Archbishop's chaplains), who was in the habit 
of visiting and reading to her. Shortly before the 
appointed hour, she was seized with a paroxysm of 
coughing, so violent and prolonged, that those who 

* See Milton's Sonnet on his Blindness. 



308 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

stood around her bed, scarcely expected she could 
survive it ; and the exhaustion which followed was 
most alarming. When a little revived, she desired 
that the sacred rite might still be performed. Sadly 
and solemnly did those holiest words fall on the hearts 
of the little group of mourners assembled in the 
quiet chamber — on one young heart, more especially, 
that of the dear, innocent boy, admitted to his first 
communion beside his mother's deathbed ; while 
she alone was calm amongst the trembling, placid 
amidst the weeping. * A night of intense anxiety 
followed ; yet not only did it pass without further 
alarm, but the morning brought revival, and even 

* " I came again : the place was bright 
1 With something of celestial light' — 
A simple altar by the bed, 
For high communion meetly spread, 
Chalice, and plate, and snowy vest — 
We ate and drank : then calmly blest, 
All mourners — one with dying breath, 
We sate and talk'd of Jesus' death. 

" Oh ! soothe us, haunt us, night and day, 
Ye gentle spirits far away, 
With whom we shared the cup of grace, 
Then parted ; ye to Christ's embrace, 
We to the lonesome world again, 
Yet mindful of th' unearthly strain 
Practised with you at Eden's door, 
To be sung on, where angels soar, 
With blended voices evermore." 
Visitation of the Sick, in Keeble's Christian Year, 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 309 

some symptoms of improvement, as though a sort of 
crisis had been gone through. Once more the idea of 
a hope — a chance — of recovery, gained unconscious 
admission in the minds of those who, a week before, 
would have thought the mere mention of such a 
possibility absolutely chimerical. The advance of 
spring appeared to give somewhat of a fresh impulse 
to her frame, as soft showers might, for a season, 
revive a drooping flower. The images of external 
nature haunted her, as by the working of a secret 
sympathy, more vividly than ever ; and her " green 
books/' as she would fancifully call them, were 
again laid on the little table beside her bed, which, 
with " the ruling passion, strong in death," she 
loved to see covered with volumes, one of which 
would always lie open. Amongst the works of this 
nature which she looked over or listened to with the 
greatest interest, were Gilpin's Forest Scenery, and 
Bucke's Beauties, Harmonies, and Sublimities of 
Nature, And the poetry of Bowles, one of her 
early favourites, whom for years she had scarcely 
read or thought of, was now recurred to with a sort 
of old home feeling, and affectionate recognition of 
its mild and soothing beauty. Another book must 
be mentioned as having been peculiarly pleasing to 
her at this time — the Lives of Sacred Poets, by R. 
A. Willmott, Esq. Her mind dwelt with much 
comfort and complacency on those records of the 
pure and good, whose pious thoughts and quaint 
expressions had latterly gained such a hold upon her 



310 MEMOIR OF MRS REMANS. 

heart. Many of the poetical extracts given in that 
volume are now tenderly associated with her remem- 
brance, particularly those lines from Quarles's elegy 
on the death of Archbishop Usher : — 

" Then weep no more ; see how his peaceful breast 
Rock d by the hand of death, takes quiet rest. 
Disturb him not ! but let him sweetly take 
A full repose ; he hath been long awake." 

And yet more intimately connected with the me- 
mory of these latter da,ys, is the account of the death 
of Madame de Mornay, in the second volume of the 
Lives of Eminent Chiistians ; which she entered 
into with the deepest interest, and earnestly recom- 
mended as a beautiful and consolatory picture, show- 
ing in bright, yet not exaggerated colours, " how a 
Christian can die." 

Under the fond and fugitive delusions into which 
this unexpected turn in her malady had beguiled 
the anxious watchers round her, and occasionally, as 
it appeared, even the sufferer herself, her sister, re- 
called by yet stronger ties, bade her farewell, on the 
1st of April. The same fluctuations of hope and 
fear continued to assert their alternate ascendency 
during the earlier part of that month ; but it soon 
became but too evident that, though many of the most 
imminent and distressing symptoms had been sub- 
dued, they had only given place to a consuming 
hectic fever, which went on surely and insidiously 
wasting the last remnants of vitality ; now lending to 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMA.NS. 311 

its victim an aspect of illusive energy, now sinking 
her into the deepest extreme of passive and help- 
less prostration. 

After the exhausting vicissitudes of days when it 
seemed that the night of death was indeed at hand — 
of nights when it was thought that she could never 
see the light of morning ; wonderful even to those 
who had witnessed, throughout her illness, the clear- 
ness and brightness of the never-dying principle, 
amidst the desolation and decay of its earthly com- 
panion, was the concentrated power and facility with 
which, on Sunday, the 26th of April; she dictated 
to her brother the " Sabbath Sonnet/' the last strain 
of the " sweet singer," whose harp was henceforth 
to be hung upon the willows. 

" How many blessed groups this hour are bending, 
Through England's primrose meadow- paths, their way 
Toward spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending, 
Whence the swvet chimes proclaim the hallowd day ! 
The halls, from old heroic ages grey, 
Pour their fair children forth ; and hamlets low, 
With whose thick orchard blooms the soft winds play, 
Send out their inmates in a happy flow, 
Like a freed vernal stream ; / may not tread 
Wiih them those pathways— to the feverish bed 
Of sickness bound ; yet. O my God ! I bless 
Thy m<-rcy that wish Subba.h peace hath fill'd 
My chasten \i heart, an I all its throbbing? still'd 
To one deep cairn of lowliest thankfulness."* 

* Amongst the many tributes of interest and admiration 
elicited by a poem, so remarkable to all readers — so precious 



312 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

Little now remains for the biographer, but — 

" A soft, sad, miserere chant 
For a soul about to go.'' 

After this last effort, the shadows of death began 
to close in apace. The wing, once so buoyant and 
fearless, was now meekly folded, and the weary, 
wounded bird longed only for rest. During the last 
week of her life, she became subject to slight wan- 
derings ; but the images she dwelt upon were always 
pleasing or beautiful. She still loved to be read to, 
and seemed to feel a tranquillizing influence from 
the sound of the words, even when incapable of at- 
tending to their import. Four days before her 
death, she read to herself the Collect, Epistle, and 
Gospel for the preceding Sunday — the fourth Sun- 
day after Easter. The gracious and " comfortable 
words" of that gospel, mingling the consolations of 
Divine compassion with the parting tenderness of 

to many hearts — the following expressions, contained in a 
letter from the late venerable Bishop of Salisbury to Mrs Joanna 
Baillie (and already published by the latter), are too pleasingly 
applicable not to be inserted here. " There is something pe- 
culiarly touching in the time, the subject, and the occasion of 
this death-bed sonnet, and in the affecting contrast between 
the * blessed groups ' she describes, and her own (humanly 
speaking) helpless state of sickness ; and that again contrasted 
with the hopeful state of mind with which the sonnet con- 
cludes, expressive both of the quiet comforts of a Christian 
Sabbath, and the blessed fruits of profitable application. Her 
* Sweet Chimes' on * Sabbath Peace/ appear to me very cha- 
racteristic of the writer. " 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 313 

human love, were, perhaps, the most appropriate on 
which her fading eyes could have rested ; nor could 
she fail to apply to herself the coincidence of some 
of the expressions — " Now, I go my way to Him 
that sent me" — " I go to my Father, and ye see me 
no more" — and, " Because I have said these things 
unto you, sorrow hath filled your hearts." And, as 
her feeble hands still held the cherished book, how 
fervently must she have inwardly responded to the 
words of the dying George Herbert, when, being 
asked what prayers he would prefer, he replied — 
" O sir, the prayers of my mother ', the Church of 
England — no other prayers are equal to them !" 

In her kind friend Dr Croker, she was wont to say 
that she had at once a physician and a pastor. He 
frequently read to her, and particularly out of a 
little book which she dearly loved, and which he 
had first made known to her — a selection from the 
works of Archbishop Leighton. The last time of 
her listening to it, she repeatedly exclaimed, " beau- 
tiful ! beautiful ! " and, with her eyes upraised, seemed 
occupied in communing with herself, and mentally 
praying. She was attended to the last with the most 
watchful affection by her brother and his wife, by her 
darling Charles, and her faithful Anna, to whom 
she said, when all was fast drawing to a close, that 
" she had been making her peace with God ; — that 
she felt all at peace within her bosom." 

On Saturday the 16th of May, she sank into a 
gentle slumber, which continued almost unbroken 



314 MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 

throughout the day ; and at nine o'clock in the even- 
ing, her spirit passed away without pain or struggle, 
and, it is humbly hoped, was translated, through the 
mediation of her blessed Redeemer, to that rest 
which remaineth to the people of God. 

And those who loved her best — in whose hearts 
her departure has left an aching void which they 
must bear with them to the grave — who feel that a 
light is taken from their path which nothing earthly 
can restore — can yet thankfully and submissively 
acknowledge that " it is well !" — can rejoice to think 
of her in safety and repose ; and, with spirits chasten- 
ed like her own, can bless their Heavenly Father, that 
now, " of his great mercy," after the toils and trials 
of her mortal career, " He giveth his beloved sleep." 

Her remains were deposited in a vault beneath 
St. Anne's Church in Dublin, almost close to the 
house where she died. A small tablet has been 
placed above the spot where she is laid, inscribed 
with her name, her age, and the date of her death, 
and with the following lines from a dirge of her 
own : — 

" Calm on the bosom of thy God, 

Fair Spirit! rest thee now! 
Ev'n while w-th us thy fo oilsteps trode, 

His seal was on thy brow. 
Dust to its narrow house beneath ! 

Soul to its place on high ! 
Th<-> that havf seen thy look in death, 

Wo more may tear to die." 



MEMOIR OF MRS HEMANS. 315 

A similar memorial, bearing the following inscrip- 
tion, is erected in the Cathedral of St Asaph, be- 
neath one which is consecrated to the remembrance 
of her mother : — 

THIS TABLET, 

PLACED HERE BY HER BROTHERS, 

IS 

IN MEMORY OF 

FELICIA HEMANS, 

WHOSE CHARACTER IS BEST POURTRAYED 
IN HER WRITINGS. 

SHE DIED IN DUBLIN, MAY 16th, 1835. 
AGED 41. 



END OF MEMOIR. 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN 



AND 



WALLACE'S INVOCATION TO BRUCE 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN;* 

OR, 

VALOUR AND PATRIOTISM. 



" His sword the brave man draws, 

And asks no omen but Ids country's cause." — Pope. 



Too long have Tyranny and Power combined, 
To sway, with iron sceptre, o'er mankind ; 
Long; has Oppression worn th' imperial robe, 
And Rapine s sword has wasted half the globe ! 
O'er Europe's cultured realms, and climes afar, 
Triumphant Gaul has pour'd the tide of war : 
To her fair Austria veil'd the standard bright ; 
Ausonia's lovely plains have own'd her might ; 
While Prussia's eagle, never taught to yield, 
Forsook her tow'ring height on Jena's field ! 

Oh ! gallant Frederic ! could thy parted shade 
Have seen thy country vanquish'd and betray'd ; 
How had thy soul indignant mourn'd her shame, 
Her sullied trophies, and her tarnish'd fame ! 

"Written at the a<?e of fourteen. 



320 ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 

When Valour wept lamented Brunswick's doom, 
And nursed with tears the laurels on his tomb ; 
When Prussia, drooping o'er her hero's grave, 
Invoked his spirit to descend and save ; 
Then set her glories — then expir'd her sun, 
And fraud achieved e'en more than conquest won ! 

O'er peaceful realms, that smiled with plenty gay, 
Has desolation spread her ample sway ; 
Thy blast, oh Ruin ! on tremendous wings, 
Has proudly swept o'er empires, nations, kings ! 
Thus the wild hurricane's impetuous force, 
With dark destruction marks its whelming course, 
Despoils the woodland's pomp, the blooming plain, 
Death on its pinion, vengeance in its train ! 

Rise, Freedom, rise ! and, breaking from thy trance, 
Wave the dread banner, seize the glitt'ring lance ! 
With arm of might assert thy sacred cause, 
And call thy champions to defend thy laws ! 
How long shall tyrant power her throne maintain? 
How long shall despots and usurpers reign? 
Is honour's lofty soul for ever fled ? 
Is virtue lost ? is martial ardour dead ? 
Is there no heart where worth and valour dwell, 
No patriot Wallace, no undaunted Tell ? 
Yes, Freedom, yes ! thy sons, a noble band, 
Around thy banner, firm, exulting stand ; 
Once more, 'tis thine, invincible, to wield 
The beamy spear and adamantine shield ! 
Again thy cheek with proud resentment glows, 
Again thy lion-glance appals thy foes ; 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 321 

Thy kindling eye-beam darts unconquer'd fires, 
Thy look sublime the warrior's heart inspires ; 
And, while to guard thy standard and thy right, 
Castilians rush, intrepid, to the fight, 
Lo ! Britain's gen'rous host their aid supply, 
Resolved for thee to triumph or to die ! 
And Glory smiles to see Iberia's name 
Enroll'd with Albion's in the book of fame ! 

Illustrious names ! still, still united beam, 
Be still the hero's boast, the poet's theme : 
So, when two radiant gems together shine, 
And in one wreath their lucid light combine ; 
Each, as it sparkles with transcendant rays, 
Adds to the lustre of its kindred blaze. 

Descend, oh Genius ! from thy orb descend ! 
Thy glowing thought, thy kindling spirit lend ! 
As Memnon's harp (so ancient fables say) 
With sweet vibration meets the morning ray, 
So let the chords thy heavenly presence own, 
And swell a louder note, a nobler tone ; 
Call from the sun, her burning throne on high, 
The seraph Ecstasy, with lightning eye ; 
Steal from the source of day empyreal fire, 
And breathe the soul of rapture o'er the lyre ! 

Hail, Albion ! hail, thou land of freedom's birth ! 
Pride of the main, and Phoenix of the earth ! 
Thou second Rome, where mercy, justice, dwell, 
Whose sons in wisdom as in arms excel ! 
i. x 



322 ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 

Thine are the dauntless bands, like Spartans brave, 
Bold in the field, triumphant on the wave ; 
In classic elegance, and arts divine, 
To rival Athens' fairest palm is thine ; 
For taste and fancy from Hymettus fly, 
And richer bloom beneath thy varying sky, 
Where Science mounts in radiant car sublime, 
To other worlds beyond the sphere of time ! 
Hail, Albion, hail ! to thee has fate denied 
Peruvian mines and rich Hindo Stan's pride ; 
The gems that Ormuz and Golconda boast, 
And all the wealth of Montezuma's coast : 
For thee no Parian marbles brightly shine ; 
No glowing suns mature the blushing vine ; 
No light Arabian gales their wings expand, 
To waft Sabsean incense o'er the land ; 
No graceful cedars crown thy lofty hills, 
No trickling myrrh for thee its balm distils ; 
Not from thy trees the lucid amber flows, 
And far from thee the scented cassia blows : 
Yet fearless Commerce, pillar of thy throne, 
Makes all the wealth of foreign climes thy own ; 
From Lapland's shore to Afric's fervid reign, 
She bids thy ensigns float above the main ; 
Unfurls her streamers to the fav'ring gale, 
And shows to other worlds her daring sail : 
Then wafts their gold, their varied stores to 

thee, 
Queen of the trident ! empress of the sea ! 

For this thy noble sons have spread alarms, 
And bade the zones resound with Britain's arms ! 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 323 

Calpe's proud rock, and Syria's palmy shore, 
Have heard and trembled at their battle's roar ; 
The sacred waves of fertilizing Nile 
Have seen the triumphs of the conquering isle ; 
For this, for this, the Samiel-blast of war 
Has roll'd o'er Vincent's cape and Trafalgar ! 
Victorious Rodney spread thy thunder's sound. 
And Nelson fell, with fame immortal crown'd ; 
Blest if their perils and their blood could gain, 
To grace thy hand — the sceptre of the main ! 
The milder emblems of the virtues calm, 
The poet's verdant bay, the sage's palm ; 
These in thy laurel's blooming foliage twine, 
And round thy brows a deathless wreath combine : 
Not Mincio's banks, nor Meles' classic tide, 
Are hallow'd more than Avon's haunted side ; 
Nor is thy Thames a less inspiring theme, 
Than pure Ilissus, or than Tiber's stream. 

Bright in the annals of th' impartial page, 
Britannia's heroes live from age to age ! 
From ancient days, when dwelt her savage race, 
Her painted natives, foremost in the chase, 
Free from all cares for luxury or gain, 
Lords of the wood and monarchs of the plain ; 
To these Augustan days, when social arts, 
Refine and meliorate her manly hearts ; 
From doubtful Arthur, hero of romance, 
King of the circled board, the spear, the lance ; 
To those whose recent trophies grace her shield^ 
The gallant victors of Vimiera's field; 
Still have her warriors borne th' unfading crown, 
And made the British flag the ensign of renown. 



324 ENGLAND AND SPAi„. 

Spirit of Alfred ! patriot soul sublime ! 
Thou morning-star of error's darkest time ! 
Prince of the lion-heart ! whose arm in fight, 
On Syria's plains repell'd Saladin's might ! 
Edward ! for bright heroic deeds revered, 
By Cressy's fame to Britain still endear'd ! 
Triumphant Henry ! thou, whose valour proud. 
The lofty plume of crested Gallia bow'd ! 
Look down, look down, exalted shades ! and view 
Your Albion still to freedom's banner true ! 
Behold the land, ennobled by your fame, 
Supreme in glory, and of spotless name ; 
And, as the pyramid indignant rears 
Its awful head, and mocks the waste of years ; 
See her secure in pride of virtue tower, 
While prostrate nations kiss the rod of power ! 

Lo ! where her pennons, waving high, aspire, 
Bold victory hovers near, " with eyes of fire !" 
While Lusitania hails, with just applause, 
The brave defenders of her injured cause ; 
Bids the full song, the note of triumph rise, 
And swells th' exulting paean to the skies ! 

And they, who late with anguish, hard to tell, 
Breathed to their cherish'd realms a sad farewell ! 
Who, as the vessel bore them o'er the tide, 
Still fondly linger'd on its deck, and sigh'd ; 
Gazed on the shore, till tears obscured their sight, 
And the blue distance melted into light ; 
The Royal exiles, forced by Gallia's hate 
To fly for refuge in a foreign state : 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 325 

They, soon returning o'er the western main, 

Ere long may view their clime beloved again ; 

And, as the blazing pillar led the host 

Of faithful Israel, o'er the desert coast ; 

So may Britannia guide the noble band, 

O'er the wild ocean, to their native land. 

Oh, glorious isle ! — oh, sov'reign of the waves ! 

Thine are the sons who " never will be slaves !" 

See them once more, with ardent hearts advance, 

And rend the laurels of insulting France ; 

To brave Castile their potent aid supply, 

And wave, O Freedom ! wave thy sword on high ! 

Is there no bard of heavenly power possessed, 
To thrill, to rouse, to animate the breast ? 
Like Shakspeare o 'er the secret mind to sway, 
And call each wayward passion to obey ? 
Ts there no bard, imbued with hallow'd fire, 
To wake the chords of Ossian's magic lyre ; 
Whose numbers breathing all his flame divine, 
The patriot's name to ages might consign ? 
Rise ! Inspiration ! rise, be this thy theme, 
And mount, like Uriel, on the golden beam ! 

Oh, could my muse on seraph pinion spring, 
And sweep with rapture's hand the trembling string ! 
Could she the bosom energies control, 
And pour impassion'd fervour o'er the soul ! 
Oh, could she strike the harp to Milton given, 
Brought by a cherub from th' empyrean heaven ! 
Ah, fruitless wish ! ah, prayer preferr'd in vain, 
For her — the humblest of the woodland train ; 



326 ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 

Yet shall her feeble voice essay to raise 
The hymn of liberty, the song of praise ! 

Iberian bands ! whose noble ardour glows, 
To pour confusion on oppressive foes ; 
Intrepid spirits, hail ! 'tis yours to feel 
The hero's fire, the freeman's godlike zeal ! 
Not to secure dominion's boundless reign, 
Ye wave the flag of conquest o'er the slain ; 
No cruel rapine leads you to the war, 
Nor mad ambition, whirl' d in crimson car ; 
No, brave Castilians ! yours a nobler end, 
Your land, your laws, your monarch to defend ! 
For these, for these, your valiant legions rear 
The floating standard, and the lofty spear ! 
The fearless lover wields the conquering sword, 
Fired by the image of the maid adored ! 
His best beloved, his fondest ties, to aid, 
The father's hand unsheaths the glitt'ring blade ! 
For each, for all, for evry sacred right, 
The daring patriot mingles in the fight ! 
And e'en if love or friendship fail to warm, 
His country's name alone can nerve his dauntless 
arm ! 

He bleeds ! he falls ! his death-bed is the field ! 
His dirge the trumpet, and his bier the shield ! 
His closing eyes the beam of valour speak, 
The flush of ardour lingers on his cheek ; 
Serene he lifts to heaven those closing eyes, 
Then for his country breathes a prayer — and dies ! 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 327 

Oh ! ever hallow'd be liis verdant grave, 
There let the laurel spread, the cypress wave ! 
Thou, lovely Spring ! bestow, to grace his tomb, 
Thy sweetest fragrance, and thy earliest bloom ; 
There let the tears of heaven descend in balm. 
There let the poet consecrate his palm ! 
Let honour, pity, bless the holy ground, 
And shades of sainted heroes watch around ! 
'Twas thus, while Glory rung his thrilling knell, 
Thy chief, oh Thebes ! at Mantinea fell ; 
Smiled undismay'd within the arms of death, 
While Victory, weeping nigh, received his breath ! 

Oh ! thou, the sovereign of the noble soul ! 
Thou source of energies beyond control ! 
Queen of the lofty thought, the gen'rous deed, 
Whose sons unconquer'd fight, undaunted bleed, — 
Inspiring Liberty ! thy worshipp'd name 
The warm enthusiast kindles to a flame ; 
Thy charms inspire him to achievements high, 
Thy look of heaven, thy voice of harmony ; 
More blest, with thee to tread perennial snows, 
Where ne'er a flower expands, a zephyr blows ; 
Where Winter, binding nature in his chain, 
In frost-work palace holds perpetual reign ; 
Than, far from thee, with frolic step to rove 
The green savannas and the spicy grove ; 
Scent the rich balm of India's perfumed gales, 
In citron- woods and aroma lie vales : 
For, oh ! fair Liberty, when thou art near, 
Elysium blossoms in the desert drear ! 



328 ENGLAND AND SPAI3. 

Where'er thy smile its magic power bestows, 
There arts and taste expand, there fancy glows ; 
The sacred lyre its wild enchantment gives, 
And every chord to swelling transport lives ; 
There ardent Genius bids the pencil trace 
The soul of beauty, and the lines of grace ; 
With bold, Promethean hand, the canvass warms, 
And calls from stone expression's breathing forms. 
Thus, where the fruitful Nile o'erflows its bound, 
Its genial waves diffuse abundance round, 
Bid Ceres laugh o'er waste and sterile sands, 
And rich profusion clothe deserted lands. 

Immortal Freedom ! daughter of the skies ! 
To thee shall Britain's grateful incense rise. 
Ne'er, goddess ! ne'er forsake thy favorite isle, 
Still be thy Albion brighten'd with thy smile ! 
Long had thy spirit slept in dead repose, 
While proudly triumph'd thine insulting foes ; 
Yet, though a cloud may veil Apollo's light, 
Soon, with celestial beam, he breaks to sight : 
Once more we see thy kindling soul return, 
Thy vestal-flame with added radiance burn ; 
Lo ! in Iberian hearts thine ardour lives, 
Lo ! in Iberian hearts thy spark revives ! 

Proceed, proceed, ye firm undaunted band ! 
Still sure to conquer, if combined ye stand : 
Though myriads flashing in the eye of day, 
Stream'd o'er the smiling land in long array ; 
Though tyrant Asia pour'd unnumber'd foes, 
Triumphant still the arm of Greece arose : 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 329 

For ev'ry state in sacred union stood, 
Strong to repel invasion's whelming flood ; 
Each heart was glowing in the gen'ral cause, 
Each hand prepared to guard their hallow'd laws ; 
Athenian valour join'd Laconia's might, 
And but contended to be first in fight ; 
From rank to rank the warm contagion ran, 
And Hope and Freedom led the flaming van : 
Then Persia's monarch mourn'd his glories lost, 
As wild confusion wing'd his flying host ; 
Then Attic bards the hymn of victory sung, 
The Grecian harp to notes exulting rung ! 
Then Sculpture bade the Parian stone record 
The high achievements of the conquering sword. 
Thus, brave Castilians ! thus, may bright renown 
And fair success your valiant efforts crown ! 

Genius of chivalry ! whose early days 
Tradition still recounts in artless lays ; 
Whose faded splendours fancy oft recalls, 
The floating banners, and the lofty halls ; 
The gallant feats thy festivals display'd, 
The tilt, the tournament, the long crusade ; 
Whose ancient pride Romance delights to hail, 
In fabling numbers, or heroic tale : 
Those times are fled, when stern thy castles frown'd, 
Their stately towers with feudal grandeur crown'd ; 
Those times are fled, when fair Iberia's clime 
Beheld thy Gothic reign, thy pomp sublime ; 
And all thy glories, all thy deeds of yore, 
Live but in legends wild, and poet's lore. 
Lo ! where thy silent harp neglected lies, 
Light o'er its chords the murm'ring zephyr sighs ; 



330 ENGJLANB AND SPAIN. 

Thy solemn courts, where once the minstrel sung, 

The choral voice of mirth and music rung ; 

Now, with the ivy clad, forsaken, lone, 

Hear but the breeze and echo to its moan : 

Thy lonely tow'rs deserted fall away, 

Thy broken shield is mould'ring in decay. 

Yet, though thy transient pageantries are gone, 

Like fairy visions, bright, yet swiftly flown ; 

Genius of chivalry ! thy noble train, 

Thy firm, exalted virtues yet remain ! 

Fair truth, array'd in robes of spotless white, 

Her eye a sunbeam, and her zone of light ; 

Warm emulation, with aspiring aim, 

Still darting forward to the wreath of fame ; 

And purest love, that waves his torch divine, 

At awful honour's consecrated shrine ; 

Ardour, with eagle-wing and fiery glance ; 

And gen'rous courage, resting on his lance ; 

And loyalty, by perils unsubdued ; 

Untainted faith, unshaken fortitude ; 

And patriot energy, with heart of flame — > 

These, in Iberia's sons are yet the same ! 

These from remotest days their souls have fired, 

" Nerved ev'ry arm," and ev'ry breast inspired ! 

When Moorish bands their suffering land possess'd, 

And fierce oppression rear'd her giant crest ; 

The wealthy caliphs on Cordova's throne, 

In eastern gems and purple splendour shone ; 

Theirs was the proud magnificence that vied 

With stately Bagdat's oriental pride ; 

Theirs were the courts in regal pomp array *d, 

Where arts and luxury their charms display'd ; 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 331 

'Twas theirs to rear the Zehrar's costly towers, 

Its fairy-palace and enchanted bowers ; 

There all Arabian fiction e'er could tell, 

Of potent genii or of wizard spell ; 

All that a poet's dream could picture bright, 

One sweet Elysium, charm'd the wond'ring sight ! 

Too fair, to rich, for work of mortal hand, 

It seem'd an Eden from Armida's wand ! 

Yet vain their pride, their wealth, and radiant state, 
When freedom waved on high the sword of fate ! 
When brave Ramiro bade the despots fear, 
Stern retribution frowning on his spear ; 
And fierce Almanzor, after many a fight, 
O'erwhelm'd with shame, confess'd the Christian s 
might. 

In later times the gallant Cid arose, 
Burning with zeal against his country's foes ; 
His victor-arm Alphonso's throne maintain'd, 
His laureate brows the wreath of conquest gain'd ; 
And still his deeds Castilian bards rehearse, 
Inspiring theme of patriotic verse ! 
High in the temple of recording fame, 
Iberia points to great Gonsalvo's name ; 
Victorious chief ! whose valour still defied 
The arms of Gaul, and bow'd her crested pride ; 
With splendid trophies graced his sov'reign's throne, 
And bade Granada's realms his prowess own. 
Nor were his deeds thy only boast, O Spain ! 
In mighty Ferdinand's illustrious reign ; 



332 ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 

'Twas then thy glorious Pilot spread the sail, 

Unfurl' d his flag before the eastern gale ; 

Bold, sanguine, fearless, ventured to explore 

Seas unexplored, and worlds unknown before. 

Fair science guided o'er the liquid realm, 

Sweet hope, exulting, steer'd the daring helm ; 

While on the mast, with ardour-flashing eye, 

Courageous enterprise still hover'd nigh : 

The hoary genius of th' Atlantic main, 

Saw man invade his wide majestic reign; 

His empire, yet by mortal unsubdued, 

The throne, the world of awful solitude ! 

And e'en when shipwreck seem'd to rear his form, 

And dark destruction menaced in the storm ; 

In ev'ry shape, when giant-peril rose, 

To daunt his spirit and his course oppose ; 

O'er ev'ry heart when terror sway'd alone, 

And hope forsook each bosom, but his own : 

Moved by no dangers, by no fears repelTd, 

His glorious track the gallant sailor held ; 

Attentive still to mark the sea-birds lave, 

Or high in air their snowy pinions wave. 

Thus princely Jason, launching from the steep, 

With dauntless prow explored th' untravell'd deep ; 

Thus, at the helm, Ulysses' watchful sight, 

View'd ev'ry star and planetary light. 

Sublime Columbus ! when, at length, descried, 

The long-sought land arose above the tide ; 

How ev'ry heart with exultation glow'd, 

How from each eye the tear of transport flowed ! 

Not wilder joy the sons of Israel knew, 

When Canaan's fertile plains appear'd in view. 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 333 

Then rose the choral anthem on the breeze, 
Then martial music floated o'er the seas ; 
Their waving streamers to the sun display'd, 
In all the pride of warlike pomp array'd ; 
Advancing nearer still, the ardent band 
Hail'd the glad shore, and bless'd the stranger land ; 
Admired its palmy groves and prospects fair, 
With rapture breathed its pure ambrosial air : 
Then crowded round its free and simple race, 
Amazement pictured wild on ev'ry face ; 
Who deem'd that beings of celestial birth, 
Sprung from the sun, descended to the earth — 
Then first another world, another sky, 
Beheld Iberia's banner blaze on high ! 

Still prouder glories beam on history's page, 
Imperial Charles ! to mark thy prosperous age : 
Those golden days of arts and fancy bright, 
When Science pour'd her mild, refulgent light ; 
When Painting bade the glowing canvass breathe, 
Creative Sculpture claim'd the living wreath ; 
When roved the Muses in Ausonian bowers, 
Weaving immortal crowns of fairest flowers ; 
When angel-truth dispersed, with beam divine, 
The clouds that veil'd religion's hallow'd shrine ; 
Those golden days beheld Iberia tower 
High on the pyramid of fame and power ; 
Vain all the efforts of her numerous foes, 
Her might, superior still, triumphant rose. 
Thus, on proud Lebanon's exalted brow, 
The cedar, frowning o'er the plains below, 



334 ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 

Though storms assail, its regal pomp to rend, 
Majestic, still aspires, disdaining e'er to bend! 

When Gallia pour'd, to Pavia's trophied plain, 
Her youthful knights, a bold, impetuous train ; 
When, after many a toil and danger past, 
The fatal morn of conflict rose at last ; 
That morning saw her glittering host combine, 
And form in close array the threat ning line ; 
Fire in each eye, and force in ev'ry arm, 
With hope exulting, and with ardour warm ; 
Saw to the gale their streaming ensigns play. 
Their armour flashing to the beam of day ; 
Their genrous chargers panting, spurn the ground, 
Roused by the trumpet's animating sound ; 
And heard in air their warlike music float, 
The martial pipe, the drum's inspiring note ! 

Pale set the sun — the shades of evening fell, 
The mournful night-wind rung their funeral knell ; 
And the same day beheld their warriors dead. 
Their sovereign captive, and their glories fled ! 
Fled, like the lightning's evanescent fire, 
Bright, blazing, dreadful — only to expire ! 
Then, then, while prostrate Gaul confess'd her might, 
Iberia's planet shed meridian light ! 
Nor less, on famed St Quintin's deathful day, 
Castilian spirit bore the prize away ; 
Laurels that still their verdure shall retain, 
And trophies beaming high in glory's fane ! 
And lo ! her heroes, warm with kindred flame, 
Still proudly emulate their fathers' fame ; 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 335 

Still with, the soul of patriot-valour glow, 
Still rush impetuous to repel the foe ; 
Wave the bright faulchion, lift the beamy spear. 
And bid oppressive Gallia learn to fear ! 
Be theirs, be theirs, unfading honour's crown, 
The living amaranths of bright renown ! 
Be theirs th' inspiring tribute of applause, 
Due to the champions of their country's cause ! 
Be theirs the purest bliss that virtue loves, 
The joy when conscience whispers and approves ! 
When ev'ry heart is fired, each pulse beats high, 
To fight, to bleed, to fall, for liberty ; 
When ev'ry hand is dauntless and prepared, 
The sacred charter of mankind to guard ; 
When Britain's valiant sons their aid unite, 
Fervent and glowing still for freedom's right, 
Bid ancient enmities for ever cease, 
And ancient wrongs forgotten sleep in peace ; 
When, firmly leagued, they join the patriot band, 
Can venal slaves their conquering arms withstand ? 
Can fame refuse their gallant deeds to bless ? 
Can victory fail to crown them with success ? 
Look down, oh, Heaven ! the righteous cause main- 
tain, 
Defend the injured, and avenge the slain ! 
Despot of France ! destroyer of mankind ! 
What spectre-cares must haunt thy sleepless mind ! 
Oh ! if at midnight round thy regal bed, 
When soothing visions fly thine aching head ; 
When sleep denies thy anxious cares to calm, 
And lull thy senses in his opiate balm ; 



336 ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 

Invoked by guilt, if airy phantoms rise, 

And murder'd victims bleed before thine eyes ; 

Loud let them thunder in thy troubled ear, 

" Tyrant! the hour, th' avenging hour is near!" 

It is, it is ! thy star withdraws its ray, 

Soon will its parting lustre fade away ; 

Soon will Cimmerian shades obscure its light, 

And veil thy splendours in eternal night ! 

Oh ! when accusing conscience wakes thy soul, 

With awful terrors, and with dread control, 

Bids threat'ning forms, appalling, round thee stand, 

And summons all her visionary band ; 

Calls up the parted shadows of the dead, 

And whispers, peace and happiness are fled ; 

E'en at the time of silence and of rest, 

Paints the dire poniard menacing thy breast ; 

Is then thy cheek with guilt and horror pale ? 

Then dost thou tremble, does thy spirit fail ? 

And wouldst thou yet by added crimes provoke 

The bolt of heaven to launch the fatal stroke ? 

Bereave a nation of its rights revered, 

Of all to mortals sacred and endear'd ? 

And shall they tamely liberty resign, 

The soul of life, the source of bliss divine ? 

Can'st thou, supreme destroyer ! hope to bind, 

In chains of adamant, the noble mind ? 

Go, bid the rolling orbs thy mandate hear, 

Go, stay the lightning in its wing'd career ! 

No, tyrant ! no, thy utmost force is vain, 

The patriot-arm of freedom to restrain : 

Then bid thy subject-bands in armour shine, 

Then bid thy legions all their power combine I 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN 337 

Yet could'st thou summon myriads at command, 
Did boundless realms obey thy scepter'd hand, 
E'en then her soul thy lawless might would spurn, 
E'en then, with kindling fire, with indignation 
burn! 

Ye sons of Albion ! first in danger's field, 
The sword of Britain and of truth to wield ! 
Still prompt the injured to defend and save, 
Appal the despot, and assist the brave ; 
Who now intrepid lift the gen'rous blade, 
The cause of Justice and Castile to aid ! 
Ye sons of Albion ! by your country's name, 
Her crown of glory, her unsullied fame ; 
Oh ! by the shades of Cressy's martial dead, 
By warrior-bands, at Agincourt who bled ; 
By honours gain'd on Blenheim's fatal plain, 
By those in Victory's arms at Minden slain ; 
By the bright laurels Wolfe immortal won, 
Undaunted spirit ! valour's fav'rite son ! 
By Albion's thousand, thousand deeds sublime, 
Renown'd from zone to zone, from clime to clime ; 
Ye British heroes ! may your trophies raise 
A deathless monument to future days ! 
Oh ! may your courage still triumphant rise, 
Exalt the " lion banner" to the skies ! 
Transcend the fairest names in hist'ry's page, 
The brightest actions of a former age ; 
The reign of Freedom let your arms restore, 
And bid oppression fall — to rise no more ! 
Then soon returning to your native isle, 
May love and beauty hail you with their smile ; 

I. T 



338 ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 

For you may conquest weave th* undying wreath, 
And fame and glory's voice the song of rapture 
breathe ! 

Ah I when shall mad ambition cease to rage ? 
Ah ! when shall war his demon-wrath assuage ? 
When, when, supplanting discord's iron reign, 
Shall mercy wave her olive-wand again ? 
Not till the despot's dread career is closed, 
And might restrain'd and tyranny deposed ! 

Return, sweet Peace, ethereal form benign ! 
Fair blue-ey'd seraph ! balmy power divine ! 
Descend once more ! thy hallow'd blessings bring, 
Wave thy bright locks, and spread thy downy wing ! 
Luxuriant plenty laughing in thy train, 
Shall crown with glowing stores the desert-plain ; 
Young smiling Hope, attendant on thy way, 
Shall gild thy path with mild celestial ray. 
Descend once more, thou daughter of the sky ! 
Cheer ev'ry heart, and brighten ev'ry eye ; 
Justice, thy harbinger, before thee send, 
Thy myrtle-sceptre o'er the globe extend : 
Thy cherub-look again shall soothe mankind ; 
Thy cherub-hand the wounds of discord bind 
Thy smile of heaven shall ev'ry muse inspire, 
To thee the bard shall strike the silver lyre. 
Descend once more ! to bid the world rejoice — 
Let nations hail thee with exulting voice ; 
Around thy shrine with purest incense throng, 
Weave the fresh palm, and swell the choral song ! 



ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 339 

Then shall the shepherd's flute, the woodland reed, 
The martial clarion and the drum succeed ; 
Again shall bloom Arcadia's fairest flowers, 
And music warble in Idalian bowers. 
Where war and carnage blew the blast of death, 
The gale shall whisper with Favonian breath ; 
And golden Ceres bless the festive swain, 
Where the wild combat redden'd o'er the plain. 
These are thy blessings, fair benignant maid! 
Return, return, in vest of light array'd ! 
Let angel-forms and floating sylphids bear 
Thy car of sapphire through the realms of air, 
With accents milder than iEoiian lays, 
When o'er the harp the fanning zephyr plays ; 
Be thine to charm the raging world to rest, 
Diffusing round the heaven — that glows within thy 
breast ! 

Oh, Thou ! whose fiat lulls the storm asleep ! 
Thou, at whose nod subsides the rolling deep ! 
Whose awful word restrains the whirlwind's force, 
And stays the thunder in its vengeful course ; 
Fountain of life ! Omnipotent Supreme ! 
Robed in perfection ! crown'd with glory's beam ! 
Oh ! send on earth thy consecrated dove, 
To bear the sacred olive from above ; 
Restore again the blest, the halcyon time, 
The festal harmony of nature's prime ! 
Bid truth and justice once again appear, 
And spread their sunshine o'er this mundane sphere ; 
Bright in their path, let wreaths unfading bloom, 
Transcendant light their hallow'd fane illume ; 



340 ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 

Bid war and anarchy for ever cease, 
And kindred seraphs rear the shrine of peace : 
Brothers once more, let men her empire own. 
And realms and monarchs bend before the throne ; 
While circling rays of angel-mercy shed 
Eternal haloes round her sainted head ! 



WALLACE'S INVOCATION TO BRUCE. 



[Advertisement " A Native of Edinburgh, and Member 

of the Highland Society of London," with a view to give 
popularity to the project of rearing a suitable National Monu- 
ment to the Memory of Wallace, lately offered Prizes for 
the three best poems on the subject of that Illustrious 
Patriot inviting Bruce to the Scottish Throne. The fol- 
lowing Poem obtained the first of these prizes. It would 
have appeared in the same form in which it is now offered 
to the Public, under the direction of its proper Editor, the 
giver of the Prize : but his privilege has, with pride as well 
as pleasure, been yielded to a Lady of the Author's own 
Country, who solicited permission to avail herself of this 
opportunity of honouring and further remunerating the 
genius of the Poet ; and, at the same time, expressing her 
admiration of the theme m. which she has triumphed. 

It is a noble feature in the character of a generous and 
enlightened people, that, in England, the memory of the 
patriots and martyrs of Scotland has long excited an in- 
terest not exceeded in strength by that which prevails in 
the country which boasts their birth, their deeds, and their 
sufferings.] 



Great patriot hero ! Ill requited chief ! 



The morn rose bright on scenes renown'd, 
Wild Caledonia's classic ground, 
Where the bold sons of other days 
Won their high fame in Ossian's lays, 



342 Wallace's invocation to bruce. 

And fell — but not till Carron's tide 
With Roman blood was darkly dyed. 
The morn rose bright — and heard the cry 
Sent by exulting hosts on high, 
And saw the white-eross banner float 
(While rung each clansman's gathering note) 
O'er the dark plumes and serried spears 
Of Scotland's daring mountaineers ; 
As, all elate with hope, they stood, 
To buy their freedom with their blood. 

The sunset shone — to guide the flying, 
And beam a farewell to the dying ! 
The summer moon, on Falkirk's field, 
Streams upon eyes in slumber seal'd ; 
Deep slumber — not to pass away 
When breaks another morning's ray, 
Nor vanish, when the trumpet's voice 
Bids ardent hearts again rejoice : 
W^hat sunbeam's glow, what clarion's breath, 
May chase the still cold sleep of death ? 
Shrouded in Scotland's blood-stain'd plaid, 
Low are her mountain- warriors laid; 
They fell, on that proud soil whose mould 
Was blent with heroes' dust of old, 
And, guarded by the free and brave, 
Yielded the Roman — but a grave ! 
Nobly they fell ; yet with them died 
The warrior's hope, the leader's pride. 
Vainly they fell — that martyr host — 
All, save the land's high soul, is lost. 



Wallace's invocation to bruce 343 

Blest are the slain ! they calmly sleep, 
Nor hear their bleeding country weep ! 
The shouts of England's triumph telling, 
Reach not their dark and silent dwelling ; 
And those surviving to bequeath 
Their sons the choice of chains or death, 
May give the slumberer's lowly bier 
An envying glance — but not a tear. 

But thou, the fearless and the free. 
Devoted Knight of Ellerslie ! 
No vassal-spirit, form'd to bow 
When storms are gathering, clouds thy brow ; 
No shade of fear, or weak despair, 
Blends with indignant sorrow there ! 
The ray which streams on yon red field, 
O'er Scotland s cloven helm and shield, 
Glitters not there alone, to shed 
Its cloudless beauty o'er the dead ; 
But, where smooth Carron's rippling wave 
Flows near that deathbed of the brave, 
Illuming all the midnight scene, 
Sleeps brightly on thy lofty mien. 
But other beams, O Patriot ! shine 
In each commanding glance of thine, 
And other light hath fill'd thine eye 
With inspiration's majesty, 
Caught from th' immortal flame divine, 
Which makes thine inmost heart a shrine! 
Thy voice a prophet's tone hath won, 
The grandeur Freedom lends her son ; 



344 Wallace's invocation to bruce. 

Thy bearing a resistless power, 
The ruling genius of the hour ! 
And he, yon Chief, with mien of pride, 
Whom Carron's waves from thee divide, 
Whose haughty gesture fain would seek 
To veil the thoughts that blanch his cheek, 
Feels his reluctant mind controlTd 
By thine of more heroic mould ; 
Though, struggling all in vain to war 
With that high soul's ascendant star, 
He, with a conqueror's scornful eye, 
Would mock the name of Liberty. 

Heard ye the Patriot's awful voice ? — 
" Proud Victor ! in thy fame rejoice ! 
Hast thou not seen thy brethren slain, 
The harvest of thy battle plain, 
And bathed thy sword in blood, whose spot 
Eternity shall cancel not ? 
Rejoice ! — with sounds of wild lament, 
O'er her dark heaths and mountains sent, 
With dying moan, and dirge's wail, 
Thy ravaged country bids thee hail ! 
Rejoice ! — while yet exulting cries 
From England's conquering host arise, 
And strains of choral triumph tell, 
Her Royal Slave hath fought too well ! 
Oh ! dark the clouds of wo that rest, 
Brooding, o'er Scotland's mountain-crest t 
Her shield is cleft, her banner torn, 
O'er martyr'd chiefs her daughters mourn, 



Wallace's invocation to bruce. 345 

And not a breeze, but wafts the sound 

Of wailing through the land around. 

Yet deem not thou, till life depart, 

High hope shall leave the patriot's heart ; 

Or courage to the storm inured, 

Or stern resolve by woes matured, 

Oppose, to Fate's severest hour, 

Less than unconquerable power ! 

No ! though the orbs of heaven expire, 

Thine, Freedom ! is a quenchless fire ; 

And wo to him whose might would dare 

The energies of thy despair ! 

No ! — when thy chain, O Bruce ! is cast 

O'er thy land's charter'd mountain-blast, 

Then in my yielding soul shall die 

The glorious faith of Liberty ! " 

" Wild hopes ! o'er dreamer's mind that rise ! " 
With haughty laugh the Conqueror cries, 
(Yet his dark cheek is flush'd with shame, 
And his eye fill'd with troubled flame ;) 
" Vain, brief illusions ! doom'd to fly 
England's red path of victory ! 
Is not her sword unmatch'd in might ? 
Her course, a torrent in the fight ? 
The terror of her name gone forth 
Wide o'er the regions of the north ? 
Far hence, 'midst other heaths and snows, 
Must freedom's footstep now repose. 
And thou — in lofty dreams elate, 
Enthusiast ! strive no more with Fate ! 



346 Wallace's invocation to bruce. 

'Tis vain — the land is lost and won — 
Sheathed be the sword — its task is done. 
Where are the chiefs that stood with thee, 
First in the battles of the free ? 
The firm in heart, in spirit high ?— 
They sought yon fatal field to die. 
Each step of Edward's conquering host 
Hath left a grave on Scotland's coast." 

" Vassal of England, yes ! a grave 
Where sleep the faithful and the brave ; 
And who the glory would resign, 
Of death like theirs, for life like thine ? 
They slumber — and the stranger's tread 
May spurn thy country's noble dead ; 
Yet, on the land they loved so well 
Still shall their burning spirit dwell, 
Their deeds shall hallow minstrel's theme, 
Their image rise on warrior's dream, 
Their names be inspiration's breath, 
Kindling high hope and scorn of death, 
Till bursts, immortal from the tomb, 
The flame that shall avenge their doom ! 
This is no land for chains — away S 
O'er softer climes let tyrants sway ; 
Think'st thou the mountain and the storm 
Their hardy sons for bondage form ? 
Doth our stern wintry blast instil 
Submission to a despot's will ? 
No ! we were cast in other mould 
Than theirs by lawless power controll'd ; 



Wallace's invocation to bruce. 347 

The nurture of our bitter sky 

Calls forth resisting energy, 

And the wild fastnesses are ours, 

The rocks with their eternal towers ; 

The soul to struggle and to dare, 

Is mingled with our northern air, 

And dust beneath our soil is lying 

Of those who died for fame undying. 

Tread'st thou that soil ! and can it be, 

No loftier thought is roused in thee ? 

Doth no high feeling proudly start 

From slumber in thine inmost heart ? 

No secret voice thy bosom thrill, 

For thine own Scotland pleading still ? 

Oh ! wake thee yet — indignant, claim 

A nobler fate, a purer fame, 

And cast to earth thy fetters riven, 

And take thine offer' d crown from Heaven. 

Wake ! in that high majestic lot 

May the dark past be all forgot ; 

And Scotland shall forgive the field 

Where, with her blood, thy shame was seal'd. 

E'en I — though on that fatal plain 

Lies my heart's brother with the slain ; 

Though reft of his heroic worth, 

My spirit dwells alone on earth ; 

And when all other grief is past, 

Must this be cherish'd to the last — 

Will lead thy battles, guard thy throne, 

With faith unspotted as his own, 

Nor in thy noon of fame recall, 

Whose was the guilt that wrought his fall." 



348 Wallace's invocation to bruce. 

Still dost thou hear in stern disdain ? 
Are Freedom's warning accents vain ? 
No ! royal Bruce ! within thy breast 
Wakes each high thought, too long suppress'd* 
And thy heart's noblest feelings live, 
Blent in that suppliant word — " Forgive ! 5 ' 
" Forgive the wrongs to Scotland done ! 
Wallace ! thy fairest palm is won ; 
And, kindling at my country's shrine, 
My soul hath caught a spark from thine. 
Oh ! deem not, in the proudest hour 
Of triumph and exulting power — 
Deem not the light of peace could find 
A home within my troubled mind. 
Conflicts by mortal eye unseen, 
Dark, silent, secret, there have been, 
Known but to Him whose glance can trace 
Thought to its deepest dwelling-place ! 
— 'Tis past — and on my native shore 
I tread, a rebel son no more. 
Too blest, if yet my lot may be, 
In glory's path to follow thee ; 
If tears, by late repentance pour'd 
May lave the blood-stains from my sword !" 
Far other tears, O Wallace ! rise 
From the heart's fountain to thine eyes ; 
Bright, holy, and uncheck'd they spring, 
While thy voice falters, " Hail ! my King ! 
Be every wrong, by memory traced, 
In this full tide of joy effaced : 
Hail ! and rejoice ! — thy race shall claim 
A heritage of deathless fame, 



Wallace's invocation to bruce. 349 

And Scotland shall arise, at length, 

Majestic in triumphant strength, 

An eagle of the rock, that won 

A way through tempests to the sun ! 

Nor scorn the visions, wildly grand, 

The prophet-spirit of thy land : 

By torrent wave, in desert vast, 

Those visions o'er my thought have pass'd ; 

Where mountain vapours darkly roll, 

That spirit hath possess'd my soul ; 

And shadowy forms have met mine eye, 

The heings of futurity ; 

And a deep voice of years to be, 

Hath told that Scotland shall be free ! 

He comes ! exult, thou Sire of Kings ! 

From thee the chief, th' avenger springs ! 

Far o'er the land he comes to save, 

His banners in their glory wave, 

And Albyn's thousand harps awake 

On hill and heath, by stream and lake, 

To swell the strains, that far around 

Bid the proud name of Bruce resound ! 

And I — but wherefore now recall 

The whisper 'd omens of my fall? 

They come not in mysterious gloom — 

There is no bondage in the tomb ! 

O'er the soul's world no tyrant reigns, 

And earth alone for man hath chains ! 

What though I perish ere the hour 

When Scotland's vengeance wakes in power ? 

If shed for her, my blood shall stain 

The field or scaffold not in vain : 



350 Wallace's invocation to bruce. 

Its voice to efforts more sublime 
Shall rouse the spirit of her clime ; 
And in the noontide of her lot, 
My country shall forget me not ! " 



Art thou forgot ? and hath thy worth 
Without its glory pass'd from earth ? 
Rest with the brave, whose names belong 
To the high sanctity of song, 
Charter'd our reverence to control, 
And traced in sunbeams on the soul, 
Thine, Wallace ! while the heart hath still 
One pulse a generous thought can thrill — 
While youth's warm tears are yet the meed 
Of martyr's death, or hero's deed, 
Shall brightly live from age to age, 
Thy country's proudest heritage ! 
'Midst her green vales thy fame is dwelling, 
Thy deeds her mountain winds are telling, 
Thy memory speaks in torrent-wave, 
Thy step hath hailow'd rock and cave, 
And cold the wanderer's heart must be, 
That holds no converse there with thee ! 
Yet, Scotland ! to thy champion's shade, 
Still are thy grateful rites delay'd ; 
From lands of old renown, o'erspread 
With proud memorials of the dead, 
The trophied urn, the breathing bust, 
The pillar guarding noble dust, 
The shrine where art and genius high 
Have laboured for eternity — 



Wallace's invocation to bruce. 351 

The stranger comes — his eye explores 
The wilds of thy majestic shores, 
Yet vainly seeks one votive stone, 
Raised to the hero all thine own. 

Land of bright deeds and minstrel-lore ! 
Withhold that guerdon now no more. 
On some bold height of awful form, 
Stern eyrie of the cloud and storm, 
Sublimely mingling with the skies, 
Bid the proud Cenotaph arise ; 
Not to record the name that thrills 
Thy soul, the watch-word of thy hills ; 
Not to assert, with needless claim, 
The bright for ever of its fame ; 
But, in the ages yet untold, 
When ours shall be the days of old, 
To rouse high hearts and speak thy pride 
In him, for thee who lived and died. 



These verses were thus critically noticed at the time of 
publication: — 

" Our readers will remember, that, about a year ago, a 
truly patriotic person signified his intention of giving <£1000 
towards the erection of a monument to Sir William Wallace. 
At the same time he proposed a prize of <£50 to the best poem 
on the following subject : l The meeting of Wallace and 
Bruce on the Banks of the Carron.' The prize was lately 
adjudged to Mrs Hemans, whose poetical genius has been 
for some years well known to the public. * *_. * * 
When we mentioned in the tent, that Mrs Hemans hadautho- 
sized the judges who awarded to her the prize, to send her poem 
to us, it is needless to say with what enthusiasm the proposal 



352 Wallace's invocation to bruce. 

of reading it aloud was received on all sides ; and at its conclu- 
sion thunders of applause crowned the genius of the fair poet. 
Scotland has her Baillie — Ireland her Tighe — England her 
Hemans." — Blackwood's Magazine, vol. v., Sept. 1819. 

" Mrs Hemans so soon again ! — and with a palm in her 
hand! We welcome her cordially, and rejoice to find the 
high opinion of her genius which we lately expressed so un- 
equivocally confirmed. 

" On this animating theme (the meeting of Wallace and 
Bruce), several of the competitors, we understand, were of 
the other side of the Tweed — a circumstance, we learn, which 
was known from the references before the prizes were deter- 
mined. Mrs Hemans's was the first prize, against fifty-seven 
competitors. That a Scottish prize, for a poem on a subject 
purely, proudly Scottish, has been adjudged to an English 
candidate,* is a proof at once of the perfect fairness of the 
award, and of the merit of the poem. It further demonstrates 
the disappearance of those jealousies, which, not a hundred 
years ago, would have denied to such a candidate any thing 
like a fair chance with a native — if we can suppose any poet in 
the south then dreaming of nt eking the trial, or viewing Wallace 
in any other fight than that of an enemy, and a rebel against 
the paramount supremacy of England. We delight in every 
gleam of high feeling which warms the two nations alike, and 
ripens yet more that confidence and sympathy which bind them 
together in one great family." — Edin. Monthly Review, vol. ii. 

* We have learned that two of the prizes were adjudged to English 
writers. 



END OF VOLUME FIRST. 



EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES. 
PAUL'8 WOBK, CANONGATE. 



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